


It's Been A Long Season Through

by thiccbuckybarnes



Series: Stardew Valley AU [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Alternate Universe - Stardew Valley, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Eventual Smut, Exhibitionism, Farmer Bucky Barnes, Happy Ending, Harassment, M/M, Mild Angst, Minor Injuries, Pining, Slow Burn, Stardew Valley AU, Top Steve Rogers, bucky watering his crops and his thirst, eventual sexually explicit content, everyone is ok, hot lumberjack steve rogers, new york twink bucky barnes, or at least attempt to be a farmer, so much pining, sorry i always make brock the bad guy it's not intentional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 49,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23524054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thiccbuckybarnes/pseuds/thiccbuckybarnes
Summary: Bucky Barnes is in desperate need of a change in scenery, which is why he makes the foolhardy decision to quit his job, leave his asshole of a fiance, pack up his life, and move to his grandfather’s old farm all within a single day.He expects confusion, hardship, and maybe even failure. But love? He wasn’t expecting that.--Or, a Stucky Stardew Valley AU that nobody but me wanted and that’s ok.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Past Bucky/Brock - Relationship, past Steve/peggy - Relationship
Series: Stardew Valley AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2096577
Comments: 413
Kudos: 1007





	1. lift back and see the darkness hid

**Author's Note:**

> Well! Can you tell that I'm putting off all of my academic responsibilities in favor of writing fic? :)
> 
> You do not need to have played Stardew Valley to read this fic!
> 
> The basic premise of Stardew Valley (a really wonderful and wholesome game for PC and the Switch) is that you are a corporate drone in the city who hates their job. Your grandpa invites you to move to his cabin in Stardew Valley to farm and experience a different side of life. I've heard the game described as a combination of Harvest Moon and Animal Crossing.
> 
> So, here we go! Thank you for reading. I'd appreciate any and all reactions or feedback :) <3
> 
> Title is from the song Peach Pit, by the band Peach Pit.

It’s officially the first day of spring and Bucky has absolutely had it. He’s at the end of his rope, it’s the last straw, the last Jenga block providing his life any stability has been pulled out from underneath him. Whatever analogy or cliche fits here, he’ll take it because he has had _enough._

One may say this was all because he spilled coffee all over himself upon arriving to work, but upon a closer look, Bucky has steadily been losing a grip on his life for a few years now. Maybe it started when he sacrificed his morals and took the job at Hammer, Inc., or maybe it was when he had that first drunk hook-up with Brock back in college that sealed his fate. Regardless of what the catalyst was, let it be known that Bucky Barnes has been losing his shit for a while.

It didn’t help that he and Brock had gotten into an argument the previous night, _again._ He’s had sneaking suspicions that Brock is cheating on him for a while now, but the only proof he has was the time he found a pair of men's underwear that were definitely not the brand that either of them wear and they certainly weren’t Brock’s size. Brock just told him he was crazy because they were Bucky’s, but he would have remembered buying black satin underwear.

But gods, Brock makes him feel crazy. Makes him feel like it’s all in his head--the late nights, the distance, the arguments. And maybe it was. Maybe he was just crazy. Maybe he was making it all up in his head, but he couldn’t take it any longer. He just didn’t know what to do. They were _engaged_ for fuck’s sakes.

Brock at least had left this morning for a week-long business trip to San Francisco with barely saying as little as a goodbye.

So it’s a Monday. Again, first day of spring, coffee spills on his shirt as he walks out of the elevator and trips on absolutely nothing. His coworkers snicker at him, and he spends a good ten minutes trying to salvage his shirt before making it to his desk (coffee-less) and starts on the day’s long list of rudimentary tasks amongst the drab, grey cubicles.

He really isn’t in the mood to spend the next eight hours going over sales schemes. He was so tired of making phone calls all day, sinking to lower and lower levels to pitch the Hammer products to buyers. This wasn’t what he thought he was going to do with a marketing degree.

When he opens his email inbox, however, he unexpectedly finds a letter from his grandfather.

_Dear Bucky,_

_I hope this e-mail finds you well, my boy. I am writing to tell you that I’ve been speaking with your mother about you lately and have learned that you seem a little lost. As you know, I am enjoying retirement in Florida, and my farming property out in the Windrip Valley is currently vacant._

_If you feel like you’d like a break from the city, the farm is all yours for as long as you wish. I find the valley very peaceful, and the village folk kind and welcoming. Although the work is hard, you may find it rewarding. It might be a change in pace that can help you in your trying times._

_If you’re considering my offer, there is no need to set anything up--just contact Mayor Fury when you get there. He has my spare key and instructions to open the cabin for any of my family members. If you decide not to go, then forgive an old man for rambling._

_Hope you find what fulfills your soul._

_Xoxo  
Grandpa_

Bucky reads and rereads his email, fingers frozen on his keyboard. He wonders if this spilled coffee is a sign.

But he smiles small, reading his grandpa’s letter again, and a single sentence clings to him as he closes his email and opens his task box for the day.

_Hope you find what fulfills your soul._

He can’t do that, can he? He pushes a flyaway from his bun behind his ear, eyes scanning over his deskspace. He really wasn’t happy here; he hates sales, hates his mission being to get the highest number possible every day. He didn’t like his coworkers very much, either; they just perpetuated the atmosphere of being so competitive and cutthroat.

But that last sentence is playing over and over in his head, not letting him be like an ache from a mosquito bite.

_Hope you find what fulfills your soul._

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and brings his email backup.

He has to email his boss before leaving, at least.

~*~

By the time he gets to Windrip Valley, it’s been ten hours since he spilled coffee all over his shirt. He had run right out of the office and rushed home to his apartment with Brock which was blissfully empty, and scrambled to pack everything and anything he could fit in his two suitcases. Heart hammering in his chest, he scrawled a letter with a quick, “I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry, goodbye,” that he stuck to the fridge, leaving his engagement ring on the counter. He bought a one-way bus ticket out of New York City to the little village of Windrip, Vermont and was gone, not even stopping to replace his coffee.

He sent a text to Becca, asking her to come over during the week to go through the rest of his things before Brock came back just to be sure he didn’t forget anything. He sent another text apologizing for asking her to finish cleaning up his mess, but he was going away for a little bit and that he’d contact her later. He then shut off his phone and read Farming for Dummies the entire seven hour bus ride up north.

So, in one whole day Bucky managed to quit his corporate job, leave his fiance, and run away to some picturesque little cabin in a valley. This may be the craziest, most rash decision he’s ever made, but how bad could it be if his grandpa suggested it?

For the bus ride, he had to get off and jump back on several connecting buses, as there was no straight shot to Windrip Valley. But that’s fine; the more complicated the trip, the harder it’d be for Brock to find him. His mom had been to the cabin before, so he knows his family could find their way once he tells them that’s where he was going.

He’s the last one on the bus for the final hour, and when his stop finally comes, the bus driver helps him with his luggage and tips his hat to him. Bucky thanks him profusely, and waves as the bus drives off.

He looks around and realizes two things: it’s dark, and he has absolutely no fucking clue where he is.

The surrounding area is lush with greenery, but in the late evening it makes it eerie. He has to find the mayor in order to get the key to the cabin (and then find the cabin), but there might be an inn or a bed and breakfast he could find to stay in for the night.

There is a wide brick path from the bus stop that leads into the forest, so he grabs hold of his things and decides to trudge on. He didn’t come this far to sleep at a bus stop. 

As he walks down the path, he sees streetlamps up ahead. The sound of nature at night starts to ease his worries along with the illumination of what he hopes is some sort of civilization. He’s only walking for about ten minutes before he comes upon the village.

The village was a large plaza of several buildings, with some houses dotting around the perimeter. He passes by a doctor's office, a market, a boutique shop, and happens upon the pub in the middle of the square. There is faint music and chatter coming from inside, and a horse is tied up next to the building at a hitching post with enough line to allow it to lay on the grass. 

Huh--no roads, no cars. This place was like an oasis in the desert.

He takes a deep breath and steps inside. The bar is lively; several people are inside sitting at tables and on stools at the bar. The pub itself is relatively well lit; nothing like the bars he frequented in the city, but sweeter, friendlier. 

He glances around and notices several people have looked up from their groups to stare at him. Just a table away was a dark skinned man, a handsome blonde man, and a redheaded woman who were all watching him. They don’t do anything but stare at him as he makes his way across the room.

He swallows thickly and fixes his attention to the long bar. A blonde woman is wiping down the counter, and she watches him as he approaches. 

"Welcome, stranger. What can I do for you?" she asks, not unpleasantly but not exactly like she was happy he was here, either. She's pretty, and has a playful tilt to her lips.

"H-hi, uh, I've come to stay at my grandfather's cabin. Barnes? He told me to find the mayor?" He watches as understanding blooms across her face.

"Well, grandson Barnes. My name is Sharon. Welcome to Windrip Valley," she says, offering her hand. Bucky is quick to shake it.

"Bucky," he says. "Bucky Barnes. Nice to meet you."

She keeps her smile tight and peers down at his suitcases.

"Unfortunately, you missed Mayor Fury for the night, but we have rooms if you'd like to stay here. I can't imagine the ol' Barnes' place is in much shape to sleep in, anyway." 

He sighs in great relief, nodding.

"Yes, please. Whatever rate is fine. I'm hungry and exhausted and I've had enough adventure for one day just getting here," he says, which makes her laugh. 

She turns around and heads into a back room, and returns quickly with a key.

"C'mon, I'll show you to your room. Would you like something to eat? Our kitchen is open for another hour or so," she says as he follows her up the stairs.

"Oh yes, that'd be wonderful. Really anything would be fine. Whatever is easiest to throw together," he replies, trailing after her into the first door on the left.

"Special tonight is pot roast with mashed potatoes."

"That'd be excellent, thank you, " he says, setting his suitcases down. She hands him the key once his hands are free.

"I'll go put in your order. Welcome to the village, Bucky."

He thanks her again as she leaves, and sighs heavily, looking around the room. He has done the most foolhardy thing he’s ever done in his life, and he can't believe he was actually here, right in the middle of some distant village tucked in the forests, probably the farthest he’s ever been from home.

He can't believe he's really here.

He walks around slowly, taking the room in. It was mostly wood; floors, walls, bed, and dresser. He felt like he was in a log cabin, and wondered if his grandpa’s cabin was much like this. There was a connecting door that he opens to reveal a small bathroom, with a shower stall, toilet, and sink. 

Well, it was no Four Seasons.

Bucky shakes his head, feeling a bit of shame rise up. 

Life was going to be very different while he stayed up here. He was used to luxuries--he had made a decent amount of money at Hammer, but Brock was a higher-up who made significantly more. They were used to wining and dining, had a nice apartment on the Upper East side, and shopped in the nice stores. They were by no means millionaires, but they were comfortable.

He sighs and smooths his hair back to the bun at the back of his head. He'll be lucky if his cabin has running water and an indoor toilet. Fuck, he was starting to have doubts already.

He convinces himself that he can't write off the cabin without even seeing it yet. He'll reserve his judgments until tomorrow when he meets Mayor Fury and checks out what state the cabin is in. With a plan in mind, he gets his things set up, uses the bathroom, and heads down for dinner.

But as he steps down the stairs, overhears the townspeople trying to gossip about him.

"--but what is he doing here?" 

"He didn't say."

"It's none of your business, Clint."

"Maybe he's come to sell the property?"

"Not like the Barnes farm is worth much."

"Well, he can't be as bad as that Fisk with that vile supermarket down the road."

"You don't know! Maybe he _works_ for Fisk!"

Bucky rolls his eyes, turns to quickly take a few quiet steps back up, and then takes louder steps down to make the gossiping locals aware of his presence. He hears shushing, and when he finally emerges from around the corner, no one is even looking at him.

No one except the handsome blond guy he'd noticed when he came in. The guy has short blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and a thick beard. He was clearly well built, with his red flannel straining at the muscles underneath them, and if he wasn’t glaring so severely at Bucky he’d stop a moment to appreciate how _jacked_ the guy was. He looked like some kind of lumberjack wet dream he’d have after binge watching American Loggers.

Paul Bunyan was currently pointing a very intense frown at him. Bucky swallows and averts his attention elsewhere, feeling his cheeks flush. He hates attention, especially of the negative kind.

As he sits at the bar, Sharon gives him a gentle smile and sets down a huge plate of pot roast and mashed potatoes, as promised. He thanks her quietly and digs in, famished, and tries his best to retain some table manners as he devours his supper.

When he's halfway done, somebody slides into the stool next to his. He looks over and sees a pretty young woman with thick dark curly hair and plump lips. She smirks at him.

"Good, right?" She asks him, referring to his dinner. He has a mouthful, so he just nods dumbly and keeps chewing. 

"That's because I made it," she informs him proudly. He nods again, still chewing.

The woman then motions at Sharon, who pours a glass of ale for her and sets it down. 

"Can I offer you a drink?" The lady asks, and Bucky shrugs, finally swallowing.

"Sure, thank you," he says, and she motions again to Sharon. As his drink is poured, he turns to the woman and ducks his head sheepishly. "You're a wonderful cook," he complements. 

The woman tilts her head to the side with a wide smile, and takes the second mug of ale from Sharon, setting it next to Bucky's plate. 

"Well I should know how to cook if I'm going to own a pub," she informs him. He makes a hum of acknowledgement.

"Well, I sure am grateful to have somewhere to go after the day I've had. Bucky Barnes," he says, outreaching his hand for a handshake.

"Darcy," she replies, shaking his hand. "Are you a serial murderer?" She asks.

Bucky chokes on his breath and Sharon hisses a, " _Darcy!_ " But Bucky just coughs a laugh.

"No, I'm sorry to disappoint. I'm just a sales agent. Well, I _was_ a sales agent," he corrects himself, frowning down at the beer he's barely touched. She tilts her head, studying him. He waits for the invasive questions to start, but they don't.

"Are you implying that serial murdering is a career choice?"

He laughs, taken off guard again within just a few minutes of Darcy's company.

"Touche, I suppose," he laughs. He notices Paul Bunyan and his companions get up to play a round of darts. The guy kept looking over in Bucky's direction with a sour face. Darcy seems to have noticed who he was staring at because she picks her beer up and leans back onto the bar.

"Natasha is the redhead--she's our local law enforcement. Sam is the hottie in the blue shirt. He's a scientist who came to research the rare mushroom population we have up here and he never left. And hottie number two there is Steve in the lumberjack getup. He's our quiet woodsman," she says, nearly pointing each one out. 

Bucky feels his face heat, and he goes to stutter some sort of reply when she continues.

"Over there in the corner is Tony with the goatee. He's our magical blacksmith and electrical technician for just about anything. His wife is there next to him, Pepper. She's the resident accountant. And Brucey there is our doctor," she says. She's speaking kind of loudly, and Bucky wants to shush her, tell her thanks but that's okay.

But he really is curious. Is the whole village in this pub?

"Thor's the big guy there, he's the school teacher, and that disaster of a human is Clint, he's the owner of the market," she says, pointing each one out. 

She fixes Bucky with a simper, and he says a quiet thank you before taking a sip of his beer 

"And I guess you are our new ex-salesman turned farmer?" she prompts. He lifts his glass in a cheers.

"That's me. Definitely not a serial murderer," he says, peering down at his glass. She stares at him for a few more moments, and then claps her hands.

"Welp!" She says as she stands up. "Come see me when you get settled in. I'm sure you'll be needing a hot meal to eat for the next few days and I need gossip material because you, Bucky Barnes, are the most interesting person in this village," she says with a laugh. Bucky gives her a smile, and thanks her for dinner and the advice. 

When she leaves, he pulls his wallet out to pay Sharon. He downs the rest of his beer before retiring for the night without looking back at anyone.

~*~

With the morning comes sunshine and singing birds. Bucky expects to wake up sore from the long bus ride and unfamiliar bed, but he wakes up feeling lighter than he has in a long while. 

There's a bounce in his step when he walks down to the main floor with his bags, freshly showered and feeling good. Optimistic. It's a foreign feeling for him, but he isn't going to question it. 

Darcy is at the register counting the drawer, and she waves at him.

"You can leave your bags here behind the counter if you want. Fury should probably be running his morning errands, so sit down and have some breakfast," she says before walking through the saloon-style doors that Bucky guesses leads to the kitchen.

He follows her orders, and pulls out his cell phone. He stares at the black screen for a few minutes, debating on whether he wants to turn it on and face his life yet. But before he can make a decision, Darcy swings back in through the doors with a plate full of thick toast, bacon, and scrambled eggs.

He slides his phone back into his pocket. Not yet.

He chats politely with Darcy some more and dutifully eats his whole plate of breakfast. He finds the food delicious, almost like he's never tasted food this good before. He's kind of stunned, but decides not to question it. 

He's on his second cup of coffee when a tall black man with an eyepatch walks in.

"You must be the Barnes I've heard so much about," he says, and extends his hand out for Bucky. "Mayor Fury."

"James Barnes, but I go by Bucky," he says, scrambling to shake the mayor's hand. Fury seems to take a moment to assess him.

"James, the youngest, am I right?” Bucky nods. “Your grandfather is a good man. We miss him here in Windrip. It’ll be nice to see that property of his put to good use again.”

“Yessir. I’m going to try my best. Uh, Grandpa told me you had a spare key for the cabin?” 

The mayor nods and digs his hand into his light jacket and pulls a ring of a few keys out.

“That I do. Cabin, shed, stables,” he says while pointing to each respective key, and then drops the ring of keys into Bucky’s hand. 

It gives a feeling of finality as he feels the weight of the keys in his hand; they’re old and scuffed, and Bucky feels a well of emotion bubble up his chest. He tampers it down, and thanks the mayor.

“If you grab your things, I can walk you over there now. You’ll probably need to run to the market for quite a few things as it’s been empty for a number of years,” the mayor says. Bucky nods, and is quick to shove the keys into his pocket before grabbing his bags from behind the counter. Darcy gives him a wave and wishes him luck, and they step outside into the sunlight. 

He finds himself staring in amazement at the scene before him.

Bucky had only seen the village in the night, and even then it had seemed peaceful and friendly. But out in the open of the day, it was a picturesque little town square that emitted a happy and welcoming glow. The sidewalk was a well-kept stone, flowerbeds were already being filled, trees were swaying in the warm morning breeze, and each house and building were painted in inviting colors.

And the _people_! There were actually people about; walking, talking to each other, cleaning the front yards of their houses or trimming bushes outside of the businesses. He sees a pretty river about thirty yards from where they were standing, with a bridge across it leading into the forest.

Bucky twirls around, getting a full view of the plaza. He sees Clint’s market shop that Darcy had told him about, the doctor’s office, and the blacksmith across the way. There is a library near the blacksmith, and then several houses dotting around the square.

“Here, the property is actually back towards the bus stop,” the mayor said, showing Bucky back towards the way he had come in last night. They walk towards the path to the bus stop, and Fury shows him a side path forking away from both the town and the bus stop, into the forest.

“I never would have found this last night when I arrived,” Bucky mentions. The mayor just laughs.

“Yes, lots of wilderness out here,” he agrees. “But it’s not too far in. There will be a clearing up ahead, and the whole thing is Barnes property. We used to have more light posts down this way, but when your grandfather retired to Florida we didn’t see the need to maintain them.” 

Bucky nods in understanding, but hopes they’ll reconsider now that he is here. He isn’t too fond of being in the middle of the woods at night by himself.

 _Should have thought about that before coming up here,_ he thinks to himself, but quickly shakes the thought away. This is a good day, and he is determined to maintain his optimism.

“How long are you planning on staying up here, by the way?” he asks, and Bucky has been expecting this question since he made the rash decision to drop his entire life and come up here, but still hadn’t given any thought to what he’d actually say.

“To be honest, I’m not really sure. But I really want to give my best try, see what I can do, so I expect at least the season,” he says, stumbling a bit through his words. Fury hums a response, and Bucky suspects he doesn’t believe him completely.

How can he tell the mayor that his life was falling apart, and he made this decision in a split second? He has enough money to get by for a little while, but he’ll have to figure out what he should do from now on. He can always return to the city and stay with his parents or Becca. He has a bachelor’s in Marketing, so he can find another job. But he doubts that Hammer, Inc. will give him a good review, seeing as he quit on the spot.

Anxiety starts to gnaw at his stomach. Gods, he got that job right out of college. If he couldn’t get a reference from Hammer, he was never going to get a job. He can’t believe that he quit his job, dumped his fiance, and moved to the middle of fucking nowhere all because his spilled coffee on his shirt, what was he--

“Here we are,” the mayor says, and Bucky at first isn’t really sure what he’s looking at.

It’s a dirt clearing, overgrown with small trees, shrubbery, and weeds. A little pond sits off to the left, and on the right is a dusty old cabin with a mailbox in front of it. Up ahead, he can see the shed and stable, not seeming to be in much better condition.

“It’s a little out of shape,” the mayor says, and Bucky is nearly stunned to silence.

They walk up to the cabin, and Bucky scrambles to get the keys out of his pocket. He finds the big one that the mayor had said was the cabin key, and fiddles with the old lock before getting the door unlocked.

They take a few steps in, and the mayor must find the light switch because the overhead lights spark to life.

“We can have Tony come out later today and check your wiring. We wouldn’t want any old place at risk for electrical fires,” the mayor says. Bucky is still walking in, setting his bags down in the middle of the room, and spinning in a circle with his mouth open as he takes it all in.

The cabin was small, but really it wasn’t much different from the apartment he lived in when he went to college. The main room was split between a kitchen with a small table and chairs for eating on the left, and on the right was what must be a living room with an old dusty couch, rug, a fireplace, and a TV that must be from the 80’s. 

Walking further into the cabin, he sees there is a hallway from the living room that holds a small bathroom with a shower, toilet, and sink, and even further in he finds the bedroom. He walks in quietly, turning on the light and seeing it flicker a bit before fully coming on. There is a layer of dust on just about every surface, but--

But it is definitely his grandfather's home. There are a few pictures on the walls throughout of his grandpa and grandma when they were younger, a few of his mother and her two sisters. There is even a baby picture of what looked to be a three year old Becca holding him as a newborn.

He feels himself overcome with emotion then, and he scrubs his eyes, trying to take a steadying breath. From the handmade quilt on the bed, to the taxidermy fish planked on the wall above the fireplace. This was definitely all grandpa, and Bucky feels a pang of hollowness in his chest at how much he misses his family just then.

He hasn’t seen them in a while. Brock was always complaining about how much he didn’t like his parents, and especially not his sister, how he never wanted to go over there for the holidays because he just wanted to spend them with Bucky alone. He had managed to go to his parents’ without Brock for Christmas, and sneak a few coffee dates in with Becca, but he hasn’t seen them in--

He can't really remember. He should have gone to his parents’ right after he left Brock. They probably would have driven him up here, or at least tried to talk him out of it. Maybe they could have talked some sense into him.

But standing amongst all of his grandpa’s memorabilia, he’s reminded that this can’t be that bad of an endeavor to take on if Grandpa Barnes suggested it.

He makes his way back to Mayor Fury, who is respectfully waiting by the door, eyeing all of the dust with distaste.

“Having any second thoughts yet?” The mayor asks, probably from the sight of Bucky’s teary eyes. He gives the mayor a wobbly smile.

“Not after a seven hour bus ride. I think I’ve got my work cut out for me, though,” he says, a hysterical laugh escaping his throat as he considers the room, already cataloging what he needs to do in his head, and what he’ll need in order to get it done.

Fury’s eyes soften on him, and he must take pity on Bucky because he flicks his head towards the door.

“C’mon, let’s see the stable and shed, and get a list together so we can go to the market. I have to leave you at eleven, but I’d like to start you off with what you need.”

Bucky waves his hand, trailing after the mayor.

“Oh! You really don’t have to, please, sir. I have money, it’s too generous to--”

The mayor whips around on him, turning on his heel so fast Bucky flinches. The mayor has a complicated look on his face, and shakes his head.

“Don’t worry, kid. We want to welcome you to the community. I also owe your grandfather a lot, so I’m repaying him by helping you. That sound fair?” he asks, but isn’t really leaving room for further argument because he turns towards the stables and motions his hand again for Bucky to follow him.

Bucky can see why he’s the mayor; he definitely knows how to get his way.

The shed and stable are not in much better condition, but they at least find all of the tools Bucky needs to start hoeing and planting for the season. The mayor produces a notebook and pencil and asks for Bucky to start listing off what he needs.

They walk around the property so Bucky can get a better picture of everything he’ll need to get done this week; clearing weeds and unwanted shrubs and rock, isolating a patch that has good sunlight, cutting wood for his fireplace. He’ll need plenty of cleaning supplies if he was going to make his cabin habitable. 

He leaves a few things out of the mayor’s list that he is determined to buy himself--new work boots, a satchel to carry seeds in for when he plants, a new bucket for his well that surprisingly is full of water and still has a hand crank that works.

When he and the mayor are done touring the full property and putting the list together, Fury hands it to him and pats his shoulder.

“Just give this to Clint and he’ll take care of it all. We’ll get someone to help you carry it all back here,” he says, and before Bucky can object again, he says, “Welcome to Windrip Valley, James. It’s good to have a Barnes back here.”

Bucky just tries to look appreciative and thanks him for his help. Mayor Fury seems like he’s a very nice person who is loyal to his people. Between him and Darcy, Bucky feels like maybe he’ll be okay here. He thinks of Paul Bunyan, the lumberjack guy who was scowling at him all of last night and sighs. Not everyone is going to like him; that’s just a part of life. He can deal with that.

The mayor offers to walk him back to the village, and Bucky feels more at ease asking the mayor questions about the area and the people that live here.

“Not everyone lives in town,” he says. “Steve, our woodworker, actually lives a little northeast of your property. There used to be a trail up that way, I bet it’s still there. There is a lake south of your property that Sam and Natasha live by. Nat is our sheriff and Sam is a researcher from the University of Vermont that’s studying the environment here.”

Bucky tries to log all of the information in his head, but he’s losing track of what person is who.

“Near Sam and Natasha is Aunt May’s, who has a bit of a ranch. She sells animals and supplies, if you’re considering filling your stable or building a coup.” 

They end up back in the plaza, only a few hours having gone by. Mayor Fury walks him to Clint’s market, and promises to catch up with him later. Bucky parts ways with the mayor, thanking him again and turning to walk into Clint’s.

As he turns, though, he comes face to face with a horse, sudden and in his face and it makes Bucky jump back in a small shriek. He hears someone scoff, and looks up to see the woodworker--Steve--atop the horse. Steve is dressed in a tight dark green plaid flannel and blue jeans, and is frowning down at Bucky.

“She’s not going to hurt you, city boy,” the man says. His is voice gruff, a little irritated. Bucky stutters an apology and backs away, trying to get around the horse. Those blue eyes follow him until he shakes his head with a huff and calls after Fury.

Bucky’s pulse is racing in his throat, and he scurries to the market. He peeks back over his shoulder when he gets to the door, and sees Steve still watching him while Fury pets the horse. Bucky looks away quickly and opens the door, the back of his neck tingling from the knowledge that Steve was glaring at him.

The little bell above the entrance rings when he opens the door and steps inside. Whatever he was expecting of a little market in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere--this wasn’t it.

It was certainly not the cookie-cutter Walgreens or bodega that he was used to in the city, but the shop had a few shoulder-height aisles, display bins of fresh produce, and a counter in the back where a blond man with a band aid on his nose stood with a bright green apron.

“Yo hoy!” Clint shouts, raising his hand high up in the air and smiling. Bucky surveys the shop, wondering why the shopkeeper was yelling, only to realize belatedly he was greeting Bucky.

He steps forward a bit sheepishly, and sets the list he made with Fury on the counter.

“Hello new Barnes! Welcome to Windrip!” Clint says, a wide grin on his face. “My name is Clint! And this is the all-important list, I expect?” he says, scooping up the list and looking over it. 

“H-hi, uh, I’m Bucky Barnes,” he greets in return. Clint raises an eyebrow at him.

“Hi, Bucky. You do know that by now, everyone knows your name and what you look like, right?” he says, a slight tease in his voice. “It’s a small town.” Bucky ducks his head, embarrassed that people are talking about him. But his arrival must be one of the more exciting things to happen in this village for a while, he guesses.

“Oh, uhm, I was hoping I could pick up a few things, outside of the list,” he says pointedly, trying to convey that he wanted to buy some things himself. 

“Have at it,” Clint says, nodding and motioning to the shop.

So Bucky does; he picks up a basket and walks through each aisle. He grabs some organic cleaners, sponges, washcloths, and a bath towel because he hadn’t thought to bring one of his own. He finds a satchel that he can use to carry seeds and a bucket for his well. No boots, though.

“If there is anything I don’t carry, I can always order it for you,” Clint says from behind him as the shopkeeper pulls together the things from his list. Bucky remembers the comment he overheard in the pub last night--the disdain when somebody mentioned the supermarket. A trip to a supermarket would be really welcome, but he didn’t want to offend any of the townsfolk if they were really upset about it.

“Actually, that would be really great. Could you order some work boots for me? I’m afraid my old pair won’t survive all of the work I have to do,” he says, lying only a little bit considering he didn’t _bring_ an old pair. Clint nods and produces a catalog for him to flip through.

Bucky sets his basket on the counter, and waits for Clint to ring him up while he thumbs through the catalog. He finds a decent pair for a decent price, and says,

“T-31 please, in size 10½, if you can.” 

He glances up and notices Clint not ringing him up, but looking through the basket and writing down each item on the list.

“Oh--no, I want to pay for those,” Bucky says, raising a hand in halt. Clint ignores him.

“Sorry dude, I am under strict orders to bill Fury with whatever you need on this first day,” the shopkeeper says, then pauses and looks up to smile at him. “Don’t worry, it’s his investment in you. You’re paying him back by doing something with that old farm.”

Bucky sighs, air deflating out of him. Well, it couldn’t be helped. He checks out the surrounding stands while Clint continues to ring him up and sees a full display of seeds. Figuring what the hell, he’s a farmer now, right? He walks over and grabs two packets of everything and throws it on the counter. Clint raises an eyebrow at him, a smirk rising on his lips, and Bucky just shrugs.

“So, mysterious new farmer, what brings you up here?” Clint asks, starting to package all of his items in brown paper bags. Bucky leans on the counter, mouth drawing into a line. 

_I hate my job, I hate my life, and I had to get the hell out of my relationship,_ he doesn’t say. 

“Honestly, just needed a change of scenery, and the opportunity just kind of presented itself,” he says, spacing out a little as he thinks about how drastic of a change in scenery this has been. Changing city streets and a Starbucks on every corner to this little village hidden amongst the trees was a bit more jarring than he had expected.

Clint hums and continues to work, the crinkling of the paper bag the only noise for several long minutes.

“Well, we’re happy to have you, regardless of what brought you here,” Ciint says, finishing up bagging up his items. There was a lot there to carry, and Bucky wasn’t confident that he would even remember how to get back to the cabin.

“Everyone has been so nice to me,” he says, and before he can think better of it he adds, “Well, mostly everyone.”

Clint perks up at that, and like a dog with a bone he leans over the counter. “Oh? Someone not treating our Barnes boy well?” He asks. Bucky sighs, knowing he couldn’t get out of this one.

“Not that--well, not that anyone has treated me _badly._ I just--uh, Steve, is it? He doesn’t seem to like me very much,” he says. As he talks, Clint’s smirk grows wider and wider, making him wish he never opened his mouth.

“How _interesting_ ,” he says with glee.

Before Bucky can reply, the bell rings again as the door opens. Bucky turns and--

It’s Steve.

And he’s _tall._

Bucky feels his mind lag a bit, short circuiting on finally standing next to the man after he walks across the room and stops to stare at Clint and Bucky. He was tall and hulkling, clearly muscled down to his fingertips. Bucky’s poor gay brain was crying a bit.

Steve motions to the several bags all over the counter with his big hand. “This all it?” he asks.

“Yup!” Clint says, and when Steve goes to pick up a bag Bucky is speared with confusion.

“Wait, what?” he asks, albeit a little weakly. Steve ignores him and picks up a bag in each arm and starts walking away. Bucky looks at Clint, frantic. The shopkeeper is still grinning at him.

“Steve here is gonna help you with your things,” he says, voice laughing and sounding like he was explaining something to a child. 

Bucky doesn’t know what to do, how to object--but the people in this village aren’t letting him get away with anything. Steve returns and grabs two more bags and raises a brow at him, glowering.

Bucky scrambles to grab a bag--a _heavy_ bag, jesus were they all this heavy?--and follows after Steve awkwardly like a baby chick chasing after its mother. They walk outside to come upon a horse-drawn wagon. Steve is loading the bags into the small wagon, and turns to grab the bag out of Bucky’s hands.

“O-oh, thank you. You really don’t have to--”

“Get in, I’ll grab the last few,” he says, not even sparing Bucky a glance. He sounds angry, _looks_ angry, and Bucky has _no fucking idea_ what he did to the man but hurries to comply with his orders.

He climbs onto the small wagon, really just big enough to fit him and his seven bags of things when the woodmans brings the last two out. Steve climbs on the horse--the horse that scared the shit out of Bucky earlier--and makes a clicking noise to urge the horse in motion. Before he knows it, they’re on their way back to the cabin.

Steve doesn’t attempt to talk to Bucky, so Bucky doesn’t say anything, either. He figures whatever he did to make a wrong impression would have to be worked out and righted some other time; he had far too much shit to deal with at the moment.

Instead, he took the silence to admire the man’s backside. His shoulders were wide and neck thick, probably from all of that wood chopping. Did woodsmen wood chop? Bucky wasn’t sure. He was kind of irritated that such a hot guy was such an asshole.

But wasn’t that so his type?

At his internal struggle, he doesn’t notice when they finally arrive at his cabin. Steve climbs off the horse, which makes Bucky spring into action. He grabs a bag and scrambles to set it down on his porch, intent to carry more bags than Steve this time. He manages three, but Steve still carries the rest. 

Bucky stands up straight and wipes the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.

“Hey thanks. Uh, we weren’t properly introduced, I’m---” he stops abruptly, noticing Steve walking away from him. 

Gods, why was this man such a _dick?_ He’s about to say something when he sees that Steve is walking to the side of his cabin. Bucky follows him, irritated but curious.

There he sees where his collection of firewood will go, when he will start to collect it. About a quarter of the length of the house and waist-high is a little spot for firewood with a roof so the wood wouldn’t get soaked from rain or snow. Steve seems to be studying it. 

Without saying another word, he continues to circle the house, looking at the cabin while scratching his beard. Bucky isn’t sure what he should do, so he just follows the man around the yard. Finally, when they are back at the front, Steve goes to tend to his horse. While he is there, he tries again to introduce himself.

“Bucky Barnes,” he says, pushing his hand out to Steve. He is frowning at the man, determined to force this man to greet him properly. Steve peers down at his hand and then fixes him a curious look.

“I know,” he says. Bucky is about to yell in frustration, but Steve grasps his hand and gives it one single firm shake. His hand is big and warm, and calloused from hard work. The strength of it makes Bucky’s knees weak.

“Steve Rogers,” he replies. Bucky nods once and takes away his hand.

“Thank you for your help,” he says genuinely. “Everyone has been very kind to me. I really appreciate it.”

Steve’s face is neutral, but not wholly unpleasant. He’s doing something with the harness over his horse, and when he finishes he pats the horse affectionately with his big, meaty hand. He doesn’t say anything as he climbs back up on the horse. Seeing his muscles work up close was a small blessing.

He glances at Bucky, bobbing his head in a nod and then ushers his horse to leave. Bucky watches him leave, heading towards what he guesses is the trail that Fury had mentioned.

_What the hell was that?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on Tumblr at [thiccbuckybarnesfic](https://thiccbuckybarnesfic.tumblr.com/)


	2. swallowed up and angled in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much everyone for your interest and reactions in this fic <3
> 
> I've officially changed the total number of chapters to 6. I ended up writing more porn than I was originally planning on in the later chapters... 😅 I promise I won't touch it again!

Bucky gets to pulling his bags inside and gets started with the long process of unpacking and cleaning as he goes. He fumes as he works, muttering under his breath. His anger propels his cleaning spree; he figures he can start on the yard tomorrow. What is most pressing is making the cabin habitable so he doesn’t have to stay at the inn another night. He’ll probably still have to go there for dinner, though, as he didn’t actually buy any food at the market.

He opens both the front and back doors and all of the windows he can, some getting stuck and refusing to budge. He tightens his hair in a bun on top of his head and gets to scrubbing every surface of the cabin. He pulls down all of the curtains, turns down the bed, and finds every other piece of cloth or fabric and throws it into an electric washing machine that he finds in the back that he has to fill with water, drain, and then refill a few times as it spins to get all of the soap out. While that’s going, he finds a clothing line and hangs it up so it’s ready for when his things are done.

He runs the water in all of the faucets for a while to clear out whatever gunk might have found its way into the water system. He covers the floorboards in soapy water and gets on his hands and knees to scrub the floor, making him feel like Cinderella singing Sing Sweet Nightingale. He’d appreciate some help from the local wildlife but he didn’t think they’d come to his aid.

By two in the afternoon, the cabin is mostly habitable, but the bathroom still has to be cleaned floor to ceiling, and he isn’t sure what he is going to do with the couch or the fireplace. But still, standing back and assessing what he’s accomplished in just a few hours makes him feel good. 

He goes to his bedroom to unpack his phone charger and sets his phone on it. He still hasn’t checked his messages yet, which he’s sure he had plenty. When his phone charges up enough to turn on, it takes several minutes to load all of the missed calls and messages. He sighs as he opens his notifications.

_Yesterday 1:13 PM  
Becca Boo: Wait, what’s going on?? You’re leaving him?_

_Yesterday 1:22 PM  
Becca Boo: Buck????_

_Yesterday 1:27 PM  
Missed Call from Becca Boo_

_Yesterday 1:32 PM  
Becca Boo: I’m at work, call me when I get off_

_Yesterday 5:05 PM  
Missed Call from Becca Boo_

_Yesterday 5:11 PM  
Missed Call from Becca Boo_

_Yesterday 5:15 PM  
Becca Boo: I’m coming over_

_Yesterday 5:32 PM  
Becca Boo: I found your note. You’re really gone? Where are you? Just let me know you’re safe when you can, okay?_

_Yesterday 6:05 PM  
Brock: Order me some more white dress shirts, will you? Client spilled coffee on me._

_Yesterday 11:34 PM  
Brock: You up?_

_Today 9:13 AM  
Missed Call from Brock_

_Today 9:32 AM  
Brock: I’m gonna to be in meetings all day but call me_

_Today 3:46 PM  
Brock: Where the fuck are you? Call me back_

He sighs heavily, thumbing through his phone with a weight on his chest. He doesn’t want to deal with this right now. He sets his phone down so it can charge and he walks back through the cabin, appreciating the cleanliness.

He is determined to be optimistic today. He should acknowledge his small accomplishments, and stay busy. His grandpa would be proud of him.

He’s brought out of his reverie by a knock at his front door. He opens it to find the man with the goatee, and the university researcher.

“Hello?” He greets, clearly not fit for company with the layer of grime and sweat on his body.

“Howdy partner!” the man with the goatee says, and pushes into the cabin with a toolbox. The researcher shakes his head, covering his face with his hand. “We are here to learn hot gossip under the pretense of helping you fix up your lil’ cabin here, Becky,” the man says. 

“Uhh-”

“ _Tony,_ ” the other scolds, but the man is already ignoring them, eyeballing the ceiling and the light there. “I’m so sorry. Fury asked Tony to come look over your wiring, and I came to save you from Tony,” he says, extending a hand. “Sam Wilson, I live just south of your property.”

“Bucky Barnes,” Bucky greets, jumping to shake his hands. It was nice to finally meet someone properly. “Uhh,” he says, glancing back at Tony.

“That’s Tony Stark,” Sam says, but gestures to the outside. “Give me a hand? We come bearing gifts for you.”

“Oh! You really didn’t have to,” Bucky says, following Sam out. He already really liked the man; he seems like the first normal one he's met in this town.

Sam waves his hand as if to wave off Bucky’s protest. “Don’t worry, Darcy sent me with lunch because she said, and I quote, ‘He’s probably not going to feed himself,’” Sam says. Bucky feels himself flush in embarrassment because, well, she wasn’t _wrong,_ but also he found himself feeling very fond of her already.

On the porch, Sam has a _picnic basket,_ for fuck's sake. There is also a six pack of beer and a bag that Bucky can’t see inside of.

“Please, help yourself,” Sam says, and almost on cue, Bucky’s stomach growls. 

Bucky sits down on his porch next to Sam while he tucks into his prepared lunch, a nice big sandwich, side salad, and an apple.

“So, how is the property treating you so far?” Sam inquires. Between bites, Bucky shrugs.

“Not bad, we’ll see how long it takes me to get it where it needs to be,” he says, and takes a swig of beer. “I’m hoping to get the cleaning of the cabin done today, but I’m not sure I’ll get there. And the yard needs a ton of work,” he says. Sam hums in agreement.

“I’ll try to help in any way I can. But let me warn you; I’m an academic, and I’m not a whole lot of use when it comes to work outdoors that doesn’t involve studying and observation,” he says with a chuckle. Bucky laughs with him.

“No, please don’t worry. Everyone has been so nice, I really can’t accept any more help,” he says, what feels like for the thousandth time that day.

“That’s not what I heard,” Tony shouts, coming out the front door with a tool in his hand he was twirling around. Bucky makes a sullen face. Jesus, did Clint rat him out already?

“Tony,” Sam scolds again, this time in warning.

“What’s wrong with loverboy? He got his panties in a twist?” Tony asks, and it takes Bucky a moment to register that Tony was asking _him._

“Who?” he asks, confused. Sam just groans.

“Y’know, Mr. Woodsman. Tall, dark and gloomy?” Tony prods, taking a seat next to Sam.

“I didn’t say he did anything wrong,” Bucky says defensively. _That’s the last time he’ll ever open his big mouth to Clint._

“You just don’t think he’s welcoming,” Tony says plainly, making Bucky flush bright.

“ _No!_ I didn’t say that. He just--” Bucky sighs, covering his face in his hands. He’s going to regret saying this! “I just get the impression he doesn’t like me. But he helped me with my groceries, and I never said anything bad about him!” Bucky insists. Sam shakes his head.

“That’s Steve for you. He’s wary around strangers.” Then, he turns and punches Tony in the shoulder. “Stop gossiping and harassing our newcomer,” he scolds. Tony pouts, rubbing his shoulder.

“Yeah, after _last time,_ he isn’t about to be jumping the welcoming committee,” Tony snides. Bucky perks up, but doesn’t ask. Tony smirks at him. “Go ahead, ask.”

“ _Tony!_ ”

Bucky shakes his head and stands up, collecting the remnants of his lunch. “Nope, you and Clint are already getting me into trouble,” he concludes. “Did you find anything wrong with the wiring?” He asks Tony, hoping for a change in subject.

Tony pops up and fiddles with the tool in his hand. “Of course! Lots of work to be done. In the meantime, tell me, why are you here?”

“ _Tony!_ ”

Bucky sighs, walking into his house with Tony and Sam trailing after him. It was going to be a long day.

~*~

By five o’clock, Bucky calls it a day. 

He had washed every inch of his bathroom so that he could comfortably be able to shower. Sam primarily helped Tony with rewiring what they could access and changing light bulbs, but he did help Bucky bring the couch out to the back of his house and promised he’d find somebody to come take it off his hands. 

The mystery bag Sam had brought had a nice loaf of teacake in it from the local bakery and a potted plant. Bucky was rather touched by the offering, but Sam just patted him on the back and went to help Tony.

Bucky didn’t really know much about electricity and all of the doodads that Tony was playing with, but it seemed like the guy did some serious work on the cabin for which Bucky was grateful. He just hoped the guy wasn’t going to make it so the cabin lit on fire when he flicked the light switch on.

The cabin is mostly to the point where he wants it by the time he waves goodbye to Sam and Tony, and he collapses into a dining room chair for a short break. He still needs to shower off all of the grime he’s collected on himself throughout the better part of the day and walk back to the village to grab dinner, but he just wants to go to bed.

The cabin looks good though. It’s nothing compared to the comfort of his and Brock’s apartment in the city, but it was cozy and all his. It’ll probably be nice in the winter with the fireplace going, and he could start to decorate it to his liking.

Bucky frowns to himself then, wondering probably along with the rest of the town exactly how long he is planning on living here.

Well, there was no use worrying about all of that now. First things first, he was in desperate need of a shower and a hot meal. He sets to work testing the water pressure in his shower, which is surprisingly nice. He might look into seeing if he could get the water tested, but there was no point in fretting over it now seeing as it was his only option.

After exiting his shower, he’s toweling off when he hears a knock.

He slinks out into the living room, creeping towards his front door to try to get a glimpse of who it is. He can just pretend he’s not home, but before he can get there all the way there to see who it is, they just _walk in._

While Bucky is in nothing but a towel!

And--

It’s _Steve._

They stare at each other, Steve’s hand frozen on his doorknob as he stares at Bucky, dripping wet with a towel around his waist. He’s holding a big armful of chopped wood.

“Uh,” Bucky lamely says, fingers flexing at his sides in an attempt to not cover himself because he has nothing to be ashamed of. He was just showering! In his own home!

“Sorry,” Steve apologizes, but doesn’t _look_ sorry, he just looks blank like he normally does though his eyes look dark. “We usually have an open door policy here,” he explains, and then motions to the wood in his arms.

He is carrying a lot of wood.

If Bucky’s chubbed dick could be seen through his towel he was leaving this village _in an instant._

“I brought you wood,” Steve says, stating the obvious as his muscles were flexed and thick under his green flannel. All Bucky finds himself able to do is nod in fear that he’ll say something inappropriate.

Steve awkwardly gestures to Bucky’s fireplace. “I’m just gonna set this here,” he says, taking the few steps into the cabin and passing by Bucky to set the chopped wood onto the little chopped wood holder next to the base of the chimney.

“Y-yeah, thanks,” Bucky says, suspiciously out of breath, and finally crosses his arms over his chest for lack of a better thing to do. He wasn’t out of shape, but a guy can get self conscious when basically naked in front of the lumberjack version of Adonis.

“Right,” Steve starts, then stops. His hand kind of spasms at his side before finally turning to the door and pointing at it over his shoulder. “I’m just gonna put the rest against the house.”

Bucky nods, but is torn between wanting Steve to leave and wanting to show him his bedroom.

But he had no idea if Steve even swung his way. And he didn’t exactly give the impression of liking Bucky anyway, with all that frowning he does at him.

“Right,” Bucky repeats. “Uh, thank you. That was very nice of you,” he says. Steve gives a curt nod and walks out, the front door closing kind of loud behind him.

Bucky scrambles to his bedroom, throwing his towel off and hurries to get clean clothes on. He nearly runs into his doorframe while he pulls a soft t-shirt over his head, and runs out of the house barefoot.

Steve is still stacking up the firewood neatly where it’s meant to go at the side of his house, under the little roof there for it.

“Please let me help,” Bucky insists as he reaches for an armful of wood on the back of the same wagon he’d ridden in before. Jesus, does nobody have a truck in these parts? But Steve is suddenly in front of him, his big chest blocking Bucky from the wood.

Well, the firewood.

“You just showered,” Steve says plainly, and turns like that’s the end of discussion. He uses both arms to grab an insane amount of wood, and makes a quiet grunt that _does things_ to Bucky as he hefts them up.

Bucky watches helplessly as a hot, mean lumberjack man picks up tens of pounds of firewood that he _had chopped for Bucky_ and carries it over to the stockpile. When did Bucky’s life turn into the plot of a bad porno?

Steve picks up the bottom of his flannel to wipe the sweat off of his face and Bucky feels steam physically blow out of his ears at the sight of a hairy and sweaty ripped set of abs and Adonis belt that points to jeans riding low on his narrow hips so that the top of his underwear was peeking out a bit. Bucky wants to lick him. 

He thinks he might have made a noise in the back of his throat because Steve is fixing him with an assessing look. Bucky pulls his eyes away from Steve’s quickly, knowing he must be absolutely pink but he can’t find an excuse because he does not feel bad for getting an eyeful of _that._

“Uh, thank you. That was really out of your way,” he says, for lack of anything better to say. Steve finally lowers his shirt and waves his hand as if to say _no big deal._

“It can get cold at night, even in the spring,” Steve says simply, and gets to tidying up what he can. Because Bucky has absolutely no filter, he says,

“Thank you. I’m not sure my fireplace even works,” he says, nonchalantly. “But I’ll definitely get it checked out and uh, use this… wood.” He finishes lamely. Steve raises an eyebrow at him, and then wordlessly starts walking back to Bucky’s front door.

“Oh! No, I didn’t mean--” he says, but Steve just keeps walking and enters his cabin.

“I don’t mind,” he says shortly, and crouches down to the fireplace and starts doing something Bucky doesn’t understand. His fireplace at home was electric, sue him.

Well, not his home anymore.

“Your shirts on inside out, by the way,” Steve informs him, not taking his eyes off of what he was doing.

Bucky’s face will probably be in a permanent blush. This place was going to kill him. Steve was going to kill him.

He excuses himself to his bedroom to fix his shirt, and spends exactly two minutes debating on how inappropriate it would be to rub one out with Steve down the hall. Can you really blame a guy? Bucky had a thing for hot guys that take care of him.

The moment is ruined when he sees his phone light up on the nightstand where it’s been plugged in to charge for most of the day.

It’s Brock’s name lighting up the screen.

He sighs, and waits for the call to go to voicemail before picking it up. He really doesn’t want to say anything to Brock. What the fuck would he say? _Sorry, I had a bout of panic and I decided to leave you because I haven’t been happy in years? Me, a born and bred Brooklyn boy, moved to the middle of nowhere and decided to become a farmer?_ Yeah, right.

He hears a clank from the living room, and picks up his towel to hang to dry in the bathroom before going to see what Steve was doing. 

The blond was setting the wood in his fireplace, artfully arranging wood over a few crumpled pieces of paper. Steve looks up, face still neutral.

“Your damper was a little stuck, but I got it open. Make sure it’s open when you start the fire,” he says, and stands up, wiping off the dust and wood flecks on his thighs.

Thick thighs. Thick, muscular thighs.

_Fuck, why was Bucky so thirsty?_

“Thank you again,” he says, holding his phone close to his chest. Steve just waves him off again and sets off to the door. Bucky watches him go. He has a really nice ass.

He’s brought out of his ogling when his phone lights up in his hand again. Anxiety rushes through him before he notices it’s Becca. He’s quick to answer it.

“Hey,” Bucky greets, pushing hair behind his ear. He hadn’t had the chance to properly dry it or tie it up with his unexpected visitor.

“ _Jesus, finally! Where have you been? Where are you?_ ” she asks, sounding frantic. Bucky feels bad for not contacting her sooner.

“You’re going to think I’m fucking crazy,” he says, opening his front door to watch Steve mount his horse. The blond man grabs the reins and glances back at Bucky. He doesn’t know what else to do, so he smiles and waves goodbye. Steve just gives him a curt nod and leaves.

“ _Are you on a bender in Atlantic City or something? Where the fuck did you go?_ ” 

He laughs, shaking his head, and tells her.

~*~

After a long conversation with his sister, it’s past six o’clock and he is absolutely starving. He collects the picnic basket left by Sam so he could return it to Darcy and heads back to town. 

The forest is pleasant, and now that he is sure he knows his way through the woods, he’s able to take his time to appreciate the calm wonder that comes with woods like these. The growing leaves rustles in the evening wind, and the smell of nature overtakes him. He finds himself humming as he walks down the path, and is almost not ready to leave the forest when he comes upon the town.

In front of Darcy’s pub is Steve’s horse, tied again to the hitching post there. He feels a flutter of nervousness go through his stomach as he opens the door and walks in.

The pub is about as lively as it had been last night, and Bucky realizes he has officially been in town for a full day. It already feels like he’s been here for longer, though, because Clint, Tony, and Sam all wave to him in greeting when he walks up to the bar. Steve is next to Sam, playing darts, and is not looking at Bucky at all.

He sets the basket on the counter and smiles at Sharon, ignoring the weird feeling in his gut that is disappointed that Steve isn’t acknowledging him.

“Well if it isn’t our new farmer. Special today is chicken pot pie,” she says, wiping down the counter before pulling out a mug to pour Bucky some beer. 

“Sounds great,” he says as he takes a seat.

“Buckaroo!” Darcy yells as she comes to sit down with him.

“Hey Darce, thanks for the lunch. You’re a lifesaver,” he says. She laughs and pats her basket. 

“I mean this in the nicest way possible, but we can smell the city on you a mile away,” she teases, pretty features bright and charming. “And Clint told me that you didn’t buy any food.” Bucky ducks his head, embarrassed but pleased.

They chat for a while about how the Barnes property is coming, what Bucky plans to do. Darcy pays rapt attention to him, chirping the occasional tease or quip. Bucky can’t help his eyes from glancing over to Steve repeatedly, who is still playing darts with the redhead and Sam and pointedly not looking in his direction. He thought maybe because he’s helped Bucky so much today, that maybe that meant Steve was starting to warm up to him, But maybe not.

Darcy’s telling him about how she’d inherited the pub from her father when Bucky’s pocket buzzes repeatedly.

“You gonna get that?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

“Sorry, it’s probably my sister,” he says, pulling it out and feeling his face fall as it lights up to show his lock screen.

_Today 6:47 PM  
Brock: Leslie just told me you quit. Answer your goddamn phone_

He feels air leave his lungs in one big whoosh. He knows Darcy is watching for his reaction, but he honestly just can’t fake it. He was hoping he could just slink out of this relationship; he left the ring, he wrote the note, Becca packed the rest of his stuff. They could just split, let it fizzle out.

And Brock was fucking cheating on him anyway, wasn’t he? What was the point of having a blowout of a breakup if the man didn’t even want to be with Bucky.

“Bucky?” Darcy asks, face full of concern. 

He forces himself to smile, knows it’s a sad excuse of one. His phone buzzes again and he sees it light up with an incoming call from Brock.

“Sorry, gotta take this,” he says, and slides off the barstool. A few of the townsfolk follow him with their eyes as he walks to the door, swiping his call to accept as he puts the phone against his ear and hurries out of the bar, but he doesn’t look back.

“Hello,” Bucky answers, voice already wavering. And he hates that he is so weak, so affected already. He hates all of this; he hates hurting people, hates the finality of breaking up and being the one to do it.

“ _Good to know you’re alive,_ ” Brock deadpans, sounding angry. “ _Where the fuck are you?_ ”

Bucky sighs, walking a few yards away from the pub to sit down on a bunch next to some hedges. The evening was cool, a gentle breeze rolling through and making the flyaways of his bun tickle his face. 

“I left,” Bucky said, focusing on his hand in his lap. His palms and fingertips were a little raw from all of the cleaning today. He wonders if he’s going to get rough, calloused hands like Steve.

“ _I’m not playing your little dramatic game, Bucky,_ ” he says. Bucky squeezes his eyes tight, trying to keep tears from spilling over.

“It’s not a game, Brock,” he says, voice getting raw and emotional. “I left. I didn’t want to ruin your trip, so I was waiting until you got back to tell you.”

Brock laughs ugly in his ear.

“ _You’re such a fucking drama queen, Bucky. I’m not playing this game,_ ” he says again. Bucky hears himself huff in annoyance, and stands up quickly to pace.

“It’s not a fucking game, Brock. I left you. It’s over. My ring is on the kitchen counter,” he says, nearly shouts. He should be more aware of his surroundings--this is probably going to be the talk of the town. _Everyone is going to know._

But Bucky doesn’t care! He’s going to shout--he’s going to yell at the top of his lungs until Brock believes him and leaves him alone.

“ _I’m not fucking doing this. I just spent all of yesterday and today winning over the California branch. I’m not about to go back out there and tell them my fiance left me. Just go back to the apartment and we can talk when I get home,_ ” he says, voice raising. 

Bucky rolls his eyes, anger bubbling up inside of him and reaching to its boiling point.

“Jesus christ, Brock. We’re fucking _over_ \--”

“ _I’m not putting up with your little dramatic exits every time we have an argument. You can’t make me chase you because you want attention. You’re finding a fucking therapist so you can work your shit out before--_ ”

“Fuck!” Bucky yells. “We are _over_ , Brock! I’m not coming back. I am long gone. You can marry your hot little sidepiece and parade him around at your shitty ass conferences with the rest of you self-important people!”

“ _I’m not going to sit here and let you talk to me like this,_ ” Brock yells into the phone.

“Good! Because you don’t have to! Goodbye--Don’t contact me again!” Bucky cries into the phone before slamming on the end call button.

He collapses back onto the bench and cries into his hands, sobs wracking through his body. Gods, he _hates_ that he’s crying, hates that he yelled, hates that everyone and their mother in this whole village probably heard him in a screaming match over the phone.

It takes several minutes to calm himself down, but he finally gets there. The chill of the spring night starts to set in, but his face is tear streaked and probably splotchy that he honestly doesn’t think he can walk back in. Especially after he’s sure that people were listening.

He leans back, and looks up and his breath catches in this throat.

Above him is a night sky like he’s never seen; an encompassing darkness with millions of twinkling stars overhead. The moon was a thin crescent shape, glowing white and ethereal. The countless dots of incandescent lights were strung all across the sky, stretched out wholly and overwhelmingly, making Bucky feel small. So small, he was like a single spec in the endlessly wide expansion of the universe.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A voice says behind him, and he jumps to peers up to his left to find the redheaded woman. She gives him a small smile and comes to sit next to him. “Sorry. I’m Natasha,” she says by way of introduction. 

“Yeah. Uhm, Bucky,” he says, and then fixes his eyes back up at the sky, can’t keep them away for long. “Everybody in there hear me?” he asks, not sure he actually wants the answer.

“Nah,” she says. “Seemed personal, nobody wants to infringe on your privacy.”

He doesn't answer, not sure what to say. What could he say? That he didn’t believe her? He knows he’s made such a fool of himself in the short time he’s been here. And just now--that seals it.

“You don’t get skies like this in New York,” he says instead, stating the obvious.

“Yeah, this is definitely a special place,” she says, tilting herself back on the bench to gaze up at the sky with Bucky. “You know, we have all been pretty wary of you,” she says.

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t blame you. Not everyday a stranger comes to live on his grandfather’s deserted farm.” She hums in agreement.

“We’ve had some trouble with strangers in the past,” she says a bit ominously. “A lot of people here have been taken advantage of.”

He squints at her, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“The Fisk guy?” He asks. Surprise crosses her face, red tendrils of hair blowing in the cool evening wind. “I overheard everyone talking about me last night when I was coming out of my room. You guys weren’t exactly quiet.”

“Fisk was the main culprit, but there were more people involved. A woman came up here a few years ago under the guise of quitting her big city job in search of a more quiet, slower-paced life,” she says.

“Not so, then?” he guesses.

“No,” she shakes her head, green eyes downcast. “No, she came here, made friends. Fell in love,” she says, and turns to him with a complicated look on her face. “Got engaged, even. And then we find out she’d been working for this man who was scouting out a new location for his supermarket.”

Bucky frowns. 

“The man, Fisk, he has some sway with some politicians. Got access to land that should have remained state property, got ahold of some more land that was supposed to be ours. Displaced quite a few people to build his mega store. Tore down a lot of good forest. And that was just to get it built. Now, it gives off a ton of pollution, takes advantage of its customers, and doesn’t even pay a living wage to its employees.”

“Sounds like the company I worked for,” he says mildly. She looks at him questioning. “Hammer Inc.? I quit yesterday right before I randomly decided to break up with my fiance and move out here.”

And gods, he sounds crazy but it was finally the truth. Was Brock right? Was he just doing this for attention? Was he just playing a game, trying to be dramatic? He didn’t want to go back--but would he have a choice?

What the hell was he thinking? Moving to the middle of nowhere to _farm,_ when he’s never planted anything a goddamn day in his life. Maybe--

“I can respect that,” Natasha says finally. “I ran away from my abusive foster parents when I was sixteen. Ended up in this town. Fell in love with it and never looked back.”

She says it so casually, so nonchalantly, Bucky can’t stop himself from reacting. He knows he looks shocked, knows it is rude to sit there and stare with his mouth open. She just glances back at him with a twinkle in her eye. 

“This place can be a safe haven, if someone needs it to be.” Bucky makes a face.

“Brock didn’t hit me, he’s just an asshole,” he says. She just shrugs.

“Hurt is not always inflicted physically,” she says. Bucky can’t disagree with that.

They go back to watching the night sky. But this time when he gazes up, he feels a bit better. Like a weight has been lifted off of him.

“I already told Darcy I wasn’t a serial murderer. I feel like I need to tell you that I don’t work for an evil corporation coming to steal your land and displace your people,” he says. And Natasha--

Natasha _laughs._ It’s a pretty sound, and it looks good on her. Bucky finds himself laughing along with her. 

“Okay, farmer. Good to know you don’t have any premeditated ill will towards us. Welcome to Windrip Valley. We’re happy to have you here,” she says, and reaches out her hand.

He takes it, grinning as he shakes it.

“It’s good to be here.”

~*~

The rest of the week is challenging but rewarding. He’s able to clear out a good spot of the property to start planning where each row of seeds will be planted. 

He turns over the dirt, places his fertilizer, and plants his seeds. He spends a ridiculously long time hovering over his plots, rereading Farming for Dummies for the third time to make sure he’s doing everything right.

He waters his plants each day, and continues to clear his land of unwanted rocks, dried-up shrubs, and stray branches. By Friday, the place is actually looking really nice.

Everyone in town is incredibly friendly. He’s even graduated from his barstool to a table where he, Clint, and Sam sit sometimes when he goes in for dinner. Natasha always waves to him and asks him how things are going. He’s met a few more people around town, and it seems like people are starting to discern that he really is just here to work on his grandpa’s farm; no ill will intended.

Steve still keeps his distance, and doesn’t say much to him. But in the late morning on Saturday when Bucky is done cleaning up the yard and weeding what there is to weed in a loose tank top and leggings, Steve is arriving in front of his cabin with his horse and wagon again.

Bucky jogs up to him, confused as to why Steve was paying him another visit but happy to see him even if Steve isn’t happy to be there. He is, by no means, short on firewood. But the wagon is full of planks of wood and various tools and a ladder.

“What’s going on?” Bucky asks, peering into the wagon curiously. Steve has his usual frown on his face while he fiddles with the harness connecting his wagon to his horse.

“Have you cleaned out your stable yet?” is all Steve asks. Bucky would be put off by the rudeness, but he’s come to understand that’s just Steve.

Well, that’s just Steve with _him._ To everyone else, Steve smiles and jokes around. Bucky almost fell off of his barstool the first time he heard Steve laugh when he was talking with Darcy. It was a really nice sound, and he looked so handsome with a smile on his rugged face. He can’t figure out why Steve dislikes him so much, but he keeps showing up and helping Bucky with things that he figures he just doesn’t like newcomers.

Tony had made that one comment…

“No, not yet,” he says, and feels a bit self-conscious about it. But, he’s done so much work! The cabin was clean and comfortable, and his property was starting to actually look like it could grow something. Bucky is awfully proud of himself.

Steve just grumbles and starts to grab his tools and ladder.

“Uhh?’ Bucky questions, following Steve when he walks around to the back of the cabin.

“You have rotting siding,” Steve says, pointing to some dark spots of wood on the cabin like it was obvious. “This wood needs to be stripped and replaced. And who knows what state your roof is in. You’re lucky it hasn’t rained yet,” he says, almost exasperatedly.

It was… kind of cute. In a really dramatically protective macho man sort of way.

Steve was _concerned._ He was going to _fix Bucky’s cabin._

“Oh,” is what he finds himself saying. “Thank you.”

Steve makes a gesture that vaguely says, _Well, what else am I supposed to do?_

“Do you need anything?” he asks, and Steve just shakes his head, grumbling as he starts to get his stuff set up. Bucky feels awkward then, hovering over him, so he decides to go into the house and have himself a shower.

He makes sure to bring a fresh pair of clothes into the bathroom with him. By the time he’s freshly showered and in a clean pair of yoga pants and his faded NYU t-shirt, he can hear noises from the back indicating that Steve has started working.

He doesn’t have much to do, so he grabs a notebook and the catalog Clint gave him to start plotting out what he wants to include in a bulk order. He wants to get internet set up in his cabin, and he's sure he’s going to need to consult with Tony on how they’re going to get the proper wiring out this way. 

When he’s done with his list, he decides to make lemonade from the nice batch of lemons he got from Clint’s the day before and put together something for lunch. He’s not sure what Steve will eat, but he figures some soup and sandwiches would go down easy. When that’s all ready, he peeks out his back door to tell Steve.

Except---

Except, Bucky can’t say _anything_ because Steve is _shirtless_ on the ladder propped against his house, balanced as he hammers nails into a new plank.

Bucky’s mouth goes dry, looking at the shirtless man working on his house. He is all height and muscles; skin shining with a layer of sweat, an enticing dusting of hair in all of the right places. Bucky really wasn’t one for gendered stereotypes, but the vision of sweaty, hot man doing manly things for him went right to Bucky’s dick.

“What?” Steve asks, husky and dark and Bucky wants to be thrown over his meaty shoulder and carried to bed.

“I made lunch,” he says weakly, because those are the only words his brain can successfully string together. Steve quirks an eyebrow at him, a hint of a smile forming on those perfect lips.

“And?” He asks, sassy and _oh,_ Steve wasn’t being an asshole to him! Maybe he was only nice when he was half-naked.

“And you should take a break and eat with me,” Bucky replies, saving the thoughts of, _or you can just eat me for lunch instead_ for himself alone. He puts his hands on his hips and tries to look challenging. Steve lets out a bit of a chuckle and shakes his head.

“Sure, let me finish this board,” he says, and his face falls back into the usual seriousness. Bucky counts it as a win.

He goes back into the cabin to get lunch set up at the little table, and opens the front door for more of a breeze. He wishes he had a screen door… maybe he could ask Steve about it.

Steve walks in several minutes later, flannel back on (unfortunately) but completely unbuttoned so glimpses of his chest and belly were still on display (fortunately). He sits down and without a word, tucks into the lunch set out for him. Bucky pours him an ice-cold glass of his homemade lemonade, and sits down across from Steve to eat.

It’s surprisingly domestic. Steve is quiet while he eats, but he eats fast, like he was either really hungry or in a hurry to get back to work. When he finishes, Bucky asks, “Would you like more?”

Steve picks up his bowl, eyes a little wide as he nods minutely. Bucky positively beams and gets up to pour him another bowl and stack another sandwich onto his plate. When he returns, Steve has chugged his lemonade and is looking a little sheepish.

Bucky pours him another glass, and sits back down to finish his own lunch.

“Do the stables need work, too?’ He asks, remembering back to Steve’s question about whether he’d cleaned it out yet. Steve wipes his mouth with his napkin and nods.

“Yeah, I noticed some damage on the western wall, and I want to get Thor out here to help me with the roof,” he says. Bucky tries to remember which one was Thor, but he fails and just nods along.

“Sure, just let me know my bill. Any rate is fine,” he says--which is true, he has plenty of money saved. He took out a decent amount of cash and stored it in a loose floorboard of his bedroom like a paranoid old kook. He’ll have to find whatever bank is closest out here and transfer the rest of his savings to a local account that he can access.

He peers up to see Steve glowering at him.

“I’m not taking your money,” Steve says, sounding offended. Bucky has to physically stop himself with responding, _How about my body instead?_ Jesus, he was too horny for this conversation.

“Oh, okay,” he says, unsure of what else to say to that. He wasn’t used to people just coming in and doing a bunch of stuff for him. Did they not think he could pay?

Steve finishes his lunch and drinks another glass of lemonade before saying a quiet, ‘thank you,” and going back outside to work. Bucky sighs heavily, looking at the empty place setting and trying to figure out what all of this means. Are he and Steve friends? Or is this just the neighborly thing to do out here? He wasn’t sure what he wanted the answer to be.

He gets to cleaning up the table and putting away the leftovers. Once the kitchen is cleaned, he goes outside to collect his laundry that’s hanging on the clothesline. When he takes them inside to fold and put away, he sees a new message on his phone.

_Today 2:07 PM  
Brock: Are you done throwing your hissy fit yet?_

Bucky fumes at the message, and puts his things away angrily. He’s shoving neatly folded towels into his hallway closet when Steve walks back in.

The only reason he doesn’t snap a _What?_ at Steve is because he gets sidetracked by his open shirt and his sweaty abs. He snaps his mouth closed and looks at him.

“I did what I could, but I’ll have to bring Thor out here to finish the rest,” he says as he washes his hands in the kitchen sink.

Bucky breathes out, deflating a little.

“Sure, whenever is fine. Thank you,” he says, albeit a little abruptly. Steve tilts his head at him curiously.

“You okay?” Steve asks, and that’s--that wasn’t expected at all.

Bucky must look taken aback because Steve rubs the back of his head and averts his eyes.

“You just look upset. Did I do something?” 

Bucky hesitates to take a step forward. “No, sorry. Something… unrelated. Thank you for your help.” 

Steve shrugs and motions vaguely to the room. “Gotta make sure this place is safe,” he says, a definite blush on his cheeks while still avoiding Bucky’s eyes. And-- _oh._ It made sense now.

Steve was trying to take care of him. Look out for him.

So they _were_ friends.

Bucky finds himself smiling, stepping towards him. “Thanks, Steve,” he says softly. Steve finally looks at him, and gives him the barest hint of a smile. 

“You gonna be at Darcy’s tonight?” Bucky asks, walking Steve out. He just chuckles.

“Where else would I be?” And Bucky nods along with him. Because yeah, Bucky too. He understood.

“See you later then,” he waves, and watches Steve get his horse from where it was laying in the grass so he could hook the wagon back up to her harness.

He watches long after Steve has left.

What a curious day.

~*~

Come Monday, Bucky has his routine down. He spends the morning watering his crops so they soak up plenty of water before the sun is overhead. He’s starting to see progress, with little green sprouts peeking out from the dirt. It makes him light and happy all day, a bounce in his step as he does his daily chores and slowly starts clearing out the stable. 

He talks to his parents and Becca about his progress, and they seem to all support him. He can’t wait to see the yield of his crops. Even if it’s not the best product, or the biggest, it’s something he’s doing with his own two hands and it makes him feel wonderful.

The several days of sun had given him good fortune and progress with his seedlings, but it had been bound to rain eventually. Tis the season, and all.

On Tuesday, it’s raining, and since he doesn’t want to pull weeds in the rain, he decides to trek into town to finally work on calling up to cancel what vendors he’d had set up for the wedding. He needs internet access, so he spends some time with Darcy in her pub before it opens to mooch off of her wifi and finally give her his whole story.

“Dang boy, cold feet?” She asks over a cup of coffee. 

“Nah, he was cheating on me I’m pretty sure. And it never really felt… right,” he says, and it was true. He had kind of just fallen into bed with Brock in college and never got out.

The wedding had been planned for late summer, so he was still relatively early in the cancelation process which meant they would get a decent amount back. He made the necessary calls and emails, making sure the deposit that was being returned was split evenly between their accounts which was how they had paid, and made sure the wedding insurance he’d enrolled in was still in effect until the end.

It was officially a week since he came to the village, and he was feeling as optimistic as ever. He decides to treat himself for his hard work with a little gossip.

“So what’s Steve’s story?” he asks, trying to sound casual about it. When Darcy doesn’t reply, he glances up to see her smirking at him. “What?” he asks defensively.

“Oh, nothing. Just totally called this,” she says, taking another sip of her coffee.

“ _What?_ I’m just curious!” he says, lying. “Well, just _looking,_ anyway,” he confesses, which makes her laugh.

“Steve’s from around here, actually. A few years older than me,” she says, and Bucky does the mental math. Darcy was the same age as him at 25, which meant Steve was probably closer to 30. 

“His dad died when we were young. He served in the military for eight years, marines I think,” she says, and Bucky eats up every word. _Of course_ he was military. That makes so much sense. “His mother died a few years back. Then he was engaged, but that was a shit show.” The information strikes a chord.

“Oh, was Steve the one engaged to the woman who worked for Fisk?” he asks, trying to ignore how that means he was interested in women and very likely didn’t play for Bucky’s team. Darcy laughs.

“Wow, heard about that, did you? Yeah, that was poor Stevie. That woman played us all. When he found out, he broke things off with her real quick. She couldn’t understand, of course. The loyalty we have with our town, why what she had done was so bad.” Darcy’s eyebrows knit together, flitting her eyes down at her cup like she was thinking of something painful.

Bucky watches her quietly, waiting.

“Part of the land that Fisk acquired for his stupid supermarket had this big ol’ willow tree. It was a real special place for Steve and his mom, I guess they’d always go there. Steve was the one who had shown it to Peggy,” she says. 

Bucky’s heart hurts at the thought. Steve had lost both his parents--a thought Bucky couldn’t even think about. And to find out that the person you loved betrayed you in such a way? That must have been devastating.

Darcy looks up at him with a small smile.

“That was a few years ago, now. He’s doing better, but everyone is a little… uncertain about newcomers after our tiff with her,” she explains. Bucky nods in understanding.

“Yeah, I understand. But I want to assure you, I’m here to run away from all of my problems, not make any for anyone else,” he says, trying to joke. He successfully gets a laugh out of Darcy.

“You’ll fit in around here just great then, Buck,” he laughs.

~*~

The rest of the week was sunny and bright. Steve made good on his promise to bring Thor out to work on his roof, and Bucky had to hide his erection for most of the day by spending it out with his plants. He had not been prepared for _two_ hot, shirtless muscular men to be sweating all over his cabin in the sun while hammering away on his roof.

Bucky wasn’t sure if he was going to survive living in this little town filled with sexy, half-naked men cutting wood and fixing things for him.

The good mood from the weather and his accomplishments had to come to an end, however. On Sunday, he gets two calls and one message from Brock. Bucky ignores the calls, but can’t help but see the message.

_Today 9:34 AM  
Brock: I’m gonna make you regret this_

He tries to ignore it, put it out of his mind. Really, he does. He finally blocks Brock’s number, finally ends that mode of communication now that the wedding is cancelled and he’s settled nicely into his new life.. Brock can’t contact him, and will never find him up in Vermont in this sweet little village. He tries to assure himself over and over, _Brock will never find you here._

But he can’t help but think:

_What if he does?_


	3. looking back at sweetness dim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry for the delay!
> 
> Thank you for all of your kudos, kind words, and bookmarks! <3 I'm so glad you're enjoying this fic!

Bucky is drunk as shit on a Saturday night.

It’s been two weeks since he got that text message from Brock, and he hasn’t exactly been coping the best with the looming threat in the back of his mind.

There were surprisingly few people at the pub, but Darcy was kind to inform him that the next day was the last day of the season, which meant it was the annual end of spring festival. The villagers were probably calling in an early night so they could be up early to set up. Bucky had nothing to set up, and decided to drown his growing anxieties over Brock with some nice pale ale.

Sharon cuts him off after a while with a frown of concern. Darcy offers to walk him home, but he waves them both off and insists that he’s fine. He went to college. He knows how to take care of himself drunk.

Though it _has_ been an awfully long while he realizes belatedly, as he stumbles through the forest. It takes him all of twenty minutes to ascertain he’s lost, wandering around the dark woods. He has to be _somewhere_ in the vicinity of his property, but the whole village was encircled by wilderness for miles. Bucky had no way of knowing if he was near town or not, and his drunk brain made it harder for him to squint out into the dark wood to try and figure out where he was.

He wanders for a while longer, tripping over exposed tree roots and trying not to be spooked by the ominous rustle of leaves or the distant noises from the wildlife. He finally pulls out his phone to find that he had no service to call anyone, and laments a little cry as he starts to feel overwhelmed.

He stumbles further, and then says a quiet, “ _Help,_ ” the word hard to push out of his throat. Again, he says it, a little louder, looking around but seeing nothing but dark trees.

He starts to jog, not sure what direction he was jogging in. “Help!” He says again, louder still. He stops and spins, every direction looking the exact same. Spinning, the dark columns of trees just blend together in the darkness. He then gapes upward, thinking maybe he could spot the Northern Star, but only sees a thick canopy to leaves and branches.

His vision swims in tears, the shadowy forest spinning from his intoxicatedness. He sways, and leans against a tree. Fucking _figures_ he gets himself lost. Why didn’t he have Darcy walk him home? Gods, will anyone ever find him?

“At least Brock won’t find me out here,” he says to himself, and the morbidity of the statement makes him sob out a strangled laugh. The growing anxieties of the last few weeks, the messages looming in the back of his mind; the “ _I’m gonna make you regret this,_ ” playing over and over again in his head, making him constantly look over his shoulder, check and double check that his windows and doors are all locked at night.

He lets out a sob into the empty night air, the only thing around to hear him the quiet trees. He sinks to the ground, back against hard bark, and he cries. Gods, he just wanted to get away from the city. He just wanted to try something new. He wanted to--

_Find what fulfills your soul._

And he laughs again, ugly and choked through his tears. God, he was so stupid. Who did he think he was, coming out in the wilderness and trying to make a life for himself? He can’t even walk home at night. He buries his face in his knees, crying, letting it all out. At least it was a nice night--the spring quickly turning into summer. Small mercies, he supposes.

He hears a crack of twigs and a rustle to the side of him, and his heart is in his throat as he shoots up, holding himself against the tree. His vision is still swimming, eyes hardly adjusting to the darkness when a light gets shined on him.

It nearly blinds him, and he raises his hand to cover his eyes.

“Bucky?” --and, he _knows_ that voice.

“Oh thank god!” Bucky says, stumbling towards Steve. The man is wearing his usual plaid flannel and jeans, thick boots on his feet. He’s frowning, but not in disapproval. But in--concern?

“What on earth,” he says, and reaches his big hand out to close around Bucky’s shoulder. He feels so small next to Steve, even though he knows he’s only a little shorter than him. Bucky was by no means skin and bone, but he didn’t chop wood and hammer nails for a living. He spent his time in pilates and yoga, making him leaner and lithe.

“I got _lost,_ ” he cries to Steve, grabbing his sleeve and trying to make out his face in the darkness. Steve glances around with his flashlight, and then peers back down at Bucky.

“Are you drunk?” he asks, and Bucky puffs up in annoyance, feeling called out. But he deflates quickly and tugs at Steve’s sleeve. He nods dejectedly, feelings tears slipping down his cheeks. Steve just sighs, and pulls him forward into his chest.

Oh, this was really nice, actually.

“C’mon, we’re close to my house,” Steve says, but doesn’t let go of Bucky’s. He stumbles a little, one hand gripping the front of Steve’s shirt and one gripping his back. He is definitely still drunk, but Steve just tightens his grip on him and helps him walk steady and straight through the wood.

They’re only walking for two minutes before emerging from the forest and stepping right in view of a two-story log cabin, lights brightly glowing from inside and smoke coming out of the chimney. 

“I heard you yelling from my kitchen,” Steve says absently, herding Bucky to the back door. “C’mon, it’s late. And you’re dirty,” he says, bringing Bucky inside. Bucky doesn’t say anything, too busy looking around the cozy house.

They step into the mudroom, which is connected to the kitchen whose windows overlook the backyard. There are dishes on the drying rack and a kettle on the stove.

Steve helps Bucky take his sneakers off, full of mud. He pulls Bucky further into the house, revealing an open living area adjacent to the kitchen, and an exposed wooden staircase going to the second floor.

“C’mon, have a shower. I don’t trust you home alone right now,” Steve is saying urging him up the stairs. Bucky wants to bite back that he’s _fine,_ but he really isn’t. He's quietly grateful to Steve as he’s shown the bathroom. Steve gets the shower going for him and takes out a big towel for him.

“I’ll see what I have for you to wear,” he says, and closes the door behind him with a quiet click.

Bucky sways where he is on his feet for a few moments before finally starting to strip. He figures if Steve is offering to take care of him, he may as well accept it. He has to use the counter to hold himself steady, and ends up sitting on the closed toilet seat lid in order to finish prying off his pants. He wrestles with his socks last, and takes a few deep breaths to make the room stop spinning.

He steps into the shower, and shivers as the water hits him; Steve had set it at a nice and hot temperature. He spends a few minutes just standing there, enjoying the water pressure and deciding on whether he wants to wash his hair or not. He feels greasy and caked in grime, even though objectively he wasn’t _that_ dirty. 

His eyes fall on some nice shampoo in the corner and figures he may as well do a head-to-toe scrub. He takes his hair down from its usual bun and starts to comb his fingers through it to wet it fully. He squirts some nice smelling shampoo into his hand, and spends a while massaging his scalp with it. His hair wasn’t that long; long enough to make a small bun at the crown of his head, but it wasn’t past his shoulders. 

After he rinses his hair of the shampoo, he finds conditioner. He didn’t think Steve to be a conditioner kind of guy, but he figures not to look a gift horse in the mouth, or whatever that expression was. He giggles to himself, because he _has_ looked at a horse in the mouth. Accidentally, but still.

While his hair conditions, he gets to washing his body down. He’s getting distracted watching the dirt circle down the drain when he hears a knock on the door.

“Hey, you doing okay in there?” Steve asks, cracking the door open.

“Yeah, not getting into trouble or anything for once,” Bucky snarks, and starts rinsing his hair again. He hears Steve chuckle, and the deep reverberation makes Bucky’s toes curl.

Oh, Bucky was very naked and very wet just a few feet away from Steve.

“I couldn’t find anything small enough for you, but I’m leaving some clothes on the counter,” Steve says, and then closes the door. Bucky feels his face heat up from much more than just the hot water because Steve called him _small._ It strokes some weird part of his brain that wants to be small and taken care of.

But he’s pretty sure Steve is straight, he reminds himself with a sigh.

He weighs the benefits and consequences of masturbating in Steve’s shower and decides to be a decent house guest and refrain, but that means the buzzing under his skin must remain for the night. He steps out of the shower when he’s fully clean and rinsed, and assesses the clothes Steve brought him.

He’s still a bit drunk, so his skills of observation aren’t very sharp, but there doesn’t appear to be anything wrong with the soft flannel button-up and plain grey joggers. He decides to put his underwear back on (being completely bare in Steve’s clothes made him a little too hot under the collar) and dresses as quickly as a drunk person can.

When he’s finally clothed, he looks at himself in the mirror and feels a complicated emotion settle in his chest. He looks… well, cozy, for one. Steve’s blue flannel shirt is _huge_ on him. Where Bucky wears a size medium, Steve must wear a large from the Big & Tall section. The cuffs of the sleeves fall well past his fingers, and the bottom of the shirt stops just mid-thigh. He could just wear the shirt as a nightgown, for the grey joggers are hiked all the way up to his ribs and are significantly bunched up around his ankles.

He feels like he’s drowning in Steve’s clothes.

...It’s kind of a good feeling.

He figures _fuck it,_ he’s just going to go with it. He steps out of the bathroom and as the steam dissipates, he sees Steve walking down the hallway with an armful of blankets and a pillow. Steve stops before him and looks him up and down, his face as blank as ever.

“Well, they do the job,” Steve says, and then walks past him to go down the stairs. “C’mon, I’ll set you up in the living room.”

Bucky sways on his feet a bit, feeling less drunk and more tired than anything. He walks slowly down the stairs, holding onto the railing tight and taking it step by step. By the time he reaches the landing, he sees that Steve has set the couch up. He’s bringing Bucky a glass of water and a Tylenol when Bucky sits down.

“Here,” he says, handing both over to him. Bucky takes them graciously, dutifully throwing back the pill and chasing it with water. He goes to set the half-empty glass down when Steve stops him.

“Nuh-uh. All of it,” he commands, and Bucky kind of just stares at him with wide eyes for a moment before he follows his orders and finishes the glass. Steve takes it and walks back to the kitchen.

Bucky’s face is on _fire,_ and he feels a little guilty about it. But Steve being all demanding, telling him what to do? That _does things_ to him. Steve has already shown that he likes taking care of people, even if he never looks happy to do it. All of the times he just randomly showed up to Bucky’s property to do work are too many to count. 

He’s _bossy_ and Bucky _needs to control himself._

Steve returns with the glass again, refilled. He is blissfully unaware of Bucky’s internal dilemma as he sets the glass down and kind of waves his hand in Bucky’s direction to signify that Bucky should lie down.

Bucky is now dizzy for a whole other reason other than alcohol and exhaustion, and he obeys Steve by laying down on the couch, head cushioned by a soft pillow. Steve pulls the blankets over him, _tucking him in,_ and Bucky knows he’s flushed by now, eyes wide as he looks up at the man.

Steve really was attractive. But it wasn’t just his body and face; he’s taking care of Bucky after rescuing him from the forest. For someone who has known such hardship and pain, Steve is so sweet. Even if his face doesn’t translate it.

It makes him think of Brock, and how much he misses the asshole even if he wasn’t the greatest. Maybe he doesn’t miss Brock so much as he misses having someone. Someone to hold him and take care of him. Someone that wouldn’t hurt him.

Bucky feels tears gather in his eyes, and he can’t help the little choked-off sob that escapes from his throat. Immediately, Steve is on offensive, looking Bucky over as if he were crying over something physical and not emotional.

“What’s wrong? Are you uncomfortable?” Steve asks, almost patting down on the blankets like it would give him an answer. He looks almost frantic, and turns to grab the glass of water like that would fix Bucky’s tears.

Bucky reaches for Steve’s free hand, just barely able to grab hold of his fingers. Bucky cries then, looking up at Steve and holding his hands. Steve’s worried face softens all at once, and he sets the glass back down on the coffee table and then sits next to it.

He probably thinks Bucky is just being a blubbering drunken mess, which isn’t entirely _wrong._ But he’s still being so caring to Bucky, who is a trainwreck. It’s late at night, he got drunkenly lost in the forest for who knows how long, and now he’s crying on his neighbor’s sofa.

But his hand is warmed by Steve’s touch. He moves to hold Bucky’s hand in both of his, wide palms and thick fingers encasing his hand fully. Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and continues to cry, feeling his hot tears run down his temples and to his ears. He turns towards Steve, huddling on his side with the blanket tucked up to his chin.

“What’s wrong, Buck?” Steve asks, voice quiet. It makes another sob escape his throat, thinking Steve is _so nice,_ so sweet. He aches for that kind of tenderness, aches for someone to be sweet on him.

And maybe it wasn’t fair to Steve, for Bucky to just soak up all of his attention; to weasel his way into Steve’s life and accept all of this help and kindness without giving anything back in return. He feels selfish, and spoiled. He feels undeserving.

But he takes it anyway, with wide armfuls and deep, deep gulping breaths. He takes everything Steve is offering, childishly hoarding it in the warm spot of his chest.

“I left him,” Bucky sobs, closing his eyes tight from the emotion rushing out of him. “I l-left him and he s-says he’s going to m-make me regret it. And I’m _scared._ ”

His voice is wobbly, feeling like a bubble is in the back of his throat as his cries alter his voice. He sucks in a breath, trying to control himself, but he opens his eyes and the _look_ Steve is fixing him, soft and unassuming, makes his lungs spasm in a whoosh of air.

Steve leans forward, and retracts one hand from holding Bucky’s to push the hair from Bucky’s face, and then traces his fingers down to Bucky’s jaw.

“He’s not going to touch you,” Steve says, voice so gentle but his eyes--

His eyes are dark. Serious, and dangerous, they watch Bucky’s face. And it’s such a juxtaposition, between the way he says the words and how he looks as he says them. It settles something inside of Bucky, something that has been trembling in fear since seeing Brock’s text message. It puts him at ease for the first time in weeks.

Bucky nods weakly, helpless belief rushing through him, and he reaches up with his sleeve-covered left hand to wipe at his tears. Steve removes his hand from his face and he misses it immediately, but it goes back to clasping his right hand.

“Get some sleep. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow,” Steve says. He gives Bucky’s hand a final squeeze, cracks a small smile at him, and stands up to walk away.

~*~

He’s not sure when he falls asleep, but he wakes up at some point in the night hot and sweaty. He desperately needs to pee, so he tumbles out of his cocoon of blankets on the couch. It takes a minute for him to remember where he is, and then he stumbles to a half-bathroom down the hall.

When he’s back in the living room, he slides out of the too-big pants barely held up by his waist. He can just put them back on before Steve wakes up. For now, it’s much too hot. He crawls back into his nest of blankets and promptly falls back asleep.

He’s rudely woken up way too early by the morning sun peeking in through the windows. He groans as he rolls over so that he’s facing the back of the couch, headache thumping between his eyes and mouth uncomfortably dry. He doesn’t want to wake up, he just wants to crawl into a hole and die.

Which, is a rather dramatic thought. He hears quiet tinkering in the next room, so he uses his arms to push him up, barely looking over the height of the sofa. He squints into the kitchen to see Steve with his ridiculously broad back. He’s wearing a flannel and loose pajama pants and filling a coffee pot with water at the sink.

Bucky throws himself back into the blankets and huffs up at the ceiling. Well, he’s definitely awake now that he’s aware of Paul Bunyan making coffee ten feet away.

He forces himself to get up, promising himself a cup of coffee and another Tylenol. He trudges back to the half bath down the hall, relieves himself, and then sleepily treks to the kitchen where Steve is filling the coffee maker with ground coffee.

“Oh, you’re up,” Steve observes. Bucky nods and yawns unattractively, using the long sleeve of the flannel shirt to rub the sleep from his eyes. He tries to push his hair down so it’s not quite sticking up in every direction, but he went to sleep last night with damp hair and that sealed his fate to a day of unkempt hair.

He opens his eyes all the way to Steve standing before him, motionless and peering down at Bucky with a weird expression on his face. It is then that Bucky notices Steve is wearing his flannel shirt unbuttoned, and he gets temporarily distracted by the deep ‘V’ of Steve’s hips that point right to an interesting patch of dark blond hair just peeking out from the hem of his sleep pants.

“Uh, did you lose your pants?” Steve asks, voice sounding funny, like he’s being strangled. Bucky looks down and sees his bare legs and feet. The flannel ends mid-thigh, effectively covering the grey boxer briefs he has on underneath.

“It got hot,” Bucky complains, ignoring how weird Steve is being about seeing his legs. He has shorts for the summer that show a hell of a lot more skin than what Bucky’s showing off now. If Steve is a prude and has a problem with it, he can rightly fuck off.

Steve clears his throat in a cough and looks away just in time for the coffee maker to beep.

Steve pours them both a cup, Bucky appreciating being given the well-loved Windrip Valley mug. Bucky proceeds to dump a load of sugar and cream into his coffee while Steve judges him with a raised eyebrow sipping his plain and black.

“So you’re never going to tell anyone you found me stumbling around drunk in the woods, right? Because my reputation is already pretty bad here and I don’t think I could possibly recover from that getting out,” Bucky says casually, leaning against the counter while he stirs his coffee with a spoon. Steve snorts into his coffee and gives him one of those rare smiles.

“I don’t participate in idle gossip,” Steve informs him, blue eyes bright and playful. 

“This isn’t idle, it’s hot and juicy,” Bucky contradicts. Steve just chuckles.

“Your reputation isn’t bad, are you kidding? The whole village is thrilled you’re here and doing something with that property,” Steve says before setting his coffee down and going to his fridge.

“I’ve done plenty of embarrassing shit,” Bucky argues back. “I’ve gotten caught up in so much gossip. And then there was the phone ca--” he stops, realizing Steve may not have actually overheard his screaming match with Brock on the phone. Steve doesn’t look at him, keeps himself facing the counter as he sets jam there and throws a few slices of bread into his toaster.

“Dealing with the fallout of things out of your control is nothing to be embarrassed about,” Steve informs him, sounding old and wise and still not even glancing his way. “You take care of yourself, don’t mean any harm to nobody, and you add worth to the community. That’s all we care about,” he says. Bucky feels his face heat up, staring in awe at Steve as he says such nice things about him.

He’s not sure what to say in response to that, feeling a little overwhelmed. Steve’s been so kind to him, and Bucky feels bad for taking advantage of him. He even had the nerve to judge Steve for not acting how Bucky expected him to act at first--Steve just has a serious face, he didn’t mean any disrespect with all his scowling. And besides, he had good reason to be skeptical of Bucky when he first came here, considering what he’s gone through with newcomers in the past.

“You still haven’t promised not to tell anyone,” Bucky says, for lack of anything better to say. It makes Steve grin, and he finally looks over to Bucky, blue eyes sparkling.

“I’m not going to tell anyone I found you parading around the forest drunk at midnight and then stood in my kitchen in your underwear harassing me,” Steve teases back. The suddenness of it makes Bucky bark out a laugh, needing to steady his coffee so he doesn’t spill it.

“--No, but I might,” says a voice from the living room. They both look over to see Natasha, her hands on her curvy hips and eyes full of judgment and mirth. She very obviously gives Bucky a once-over, definitely noticing that he is wearing one of Steve’s overly large shirts like a nightgown.

“Uhh, it’s not what it looks like?” Steve tries, holding up his toast in defense.

The pure look of mischievous glee on her face suggests she doesn’t believe him for a second.

After having to explain himself, get drilled by several intrusive questions, and be made fun of by the local sheriff for all of fifteen minutes, Bucky is finally allowed to throw on the huge joggers back on and escape from Natasha’s teasing eye. He thanks Steve profusely, and runs home using the trail between their properties, hoping no one is out to see him in his walk of shame.

It’s especially unfair because no risque events even happened to warrant a proper walk of shame. Bucky feels like he’s been jipped.

He gets dressed quickly in his own clothes, throwing Steve’s shirt on his bed and already making plans to never return it. 

He goes about his morning chores, checking on his plants, weeding what needs to be weeded, and admiring all of his vegetables that have grown in. He almost doesn’t want to pick them, but his parsnips, potatoes, and cauliflower all look like they’re at the perfect time to harvest. 

By the time he has a wheelbarrow full of fresh vegetables hosed off and looking pretty, Natasha, Clint, and Sam are walking out from the forest path.

“Yo!” Clint calls and jogs over to where Bucky is organizing his freshly washed vegetables. “We were wondering where you got to. Those look great!” Clint praises, looking down at his harvest. “You gonna let me sell them?” He asks, looking over to Bucky.

Bucky’s face flushes in the late-morning sun, surprised and pleased all at once. “You want to?” He asks. Clint just laughs.

“Yeah! Sell them to me and I’ll be your distributor,” he says, just as Natasha and Sam walk up to them. Natasha gives him a devilish smile and Bucky averts his eyes.

“I guess I haven’t really thought about what to do once I actually successfully grow what I planted,” he confesses. He didn’t really think this would work. For some reason, he figured his plants just wouldn’t yield, or that no one would want them.

His friends all look down at him with soft expressions. And that’s what they were, weren’t they? He’s made friends, and he’s farmed fresh produce, and he has people that care about his well being and are willing to rescue him from the forest at night.

Warmth spreads through his body, and a laugh fizzes out of his chest. This is perfect. He found somewhere he belongs.

Clint starts picking out what he wants, and Bucky fetches a few reusable bags from his cabin. When he comes back out, he puts a few of each vegetable in a bag each for Clint, Sam, and Natasha, and then gives Clint a bag for everything he wants to buy. 

He has three more bags; one for Darcy, one for Fury, and one for Steve.

“You’re not gonna make anything if you give them all away,” Natasha teases him. Bucky just shrugs.

“I didn’t really come out here to make money,” he says. They walk away from Clint and Sam who are picking over what’s left in the wheelbarrow. Bucky should shower and change quickly, since it’s already close to noon and he hasn’t visited the festival in town just yet.

“True. You came out here to ogle at hot, shirtless woodsmen, didn’t you?” she says, voice light and full of laughter.

“ _Natashaaa,_ ” he whines, giving her a dramatic whine and his best puppy dog eyes. “You said you wouldn’t tell anyone!”

She waves her hand in dismissal, a grin spreading across her face.

“Of course I’m not. But I can still tease you about it,” she says, and stops right in front of the porch. “Now, go get dressed. Your knight in shining armor has been fretting all morning about whether you’re okay and if you’re coming to the festival,” she says. Bucky tilts his head in confusion.

“Who?” He asks, and she rolls her eyes and shoos him into his house.

~*~

The spring festival is a happy little affair in the town's plaza. Everyone is out talking to one another and eating food. There is a band set up playing music next to the pub, and various booths dotting the square with snacks and games.

Bucky sees the mayor first, and hands over the bag without a word. Fury eyes him skeptically before peeking inside.

"I'm not taking this," Fury says, handing it back to Bucky. If it had been the first week or two that Bucky had been here, he would have gotten upset and walked away with his tail between his legs. But he's gotten to know Fury and how he operates.

"You're not taking anything, you're receiving. Because this is a gift, and if you don't receive it now, you'll just receive it later," he threatens before walking away, hearing Fury's laugh over the commotion of the festival.

He finds Darcy next, dancing in front of the band with a drink in her hand. When she realizes what he's giving her, she yells out excitedly and kisses him on his cheek. 

"Your first harvest!" She exclaims, drink sloshing around in her cup. Bucky flushes, pleased that his friends are so supportive of his yield.

Over her shoulder he sees Steve, sadly fully dressed but hefting bales of hay in a stack for Aunt Mae's barn animal display. When Steve sets down the last bale where May is directing him to, he stands up straight with a hand on hip hop and the other wiping the sweat from his brow.

Darcy must have noticed his staring because she pushes him in Steve's direction, and the lumberjack sees Bucky as he walks towards him and greets him with a smile.

Bucky feels overwhelmed, suddenly. Steve was so abrasive for so long towards him that Bucky was sure he was just some rude, bitter man. And then when he'd see how Steve would laugh and smile with everyone else, he had to convince himself that Steve was just different with him. And it made sense--he was a stranger.

But now, as Bucky hands him the bag of his first harvest, Bucky is no longer a stranger. And here, as Steve looks down at him with an affectionate expression, Steve is no longer distant and cold.

He's warm.

"That's not my clothes," Steve says as he looks into the bag. Bucky must be as ripe as a tomato for how hot his face feels. He didn't think Steve would question him about the shirt he was planning to steal so quickly.

"Nope, just my first pickings from the first plants I've ever grown," he says proudly. Steve's eyes soften. He reaches over, then, to pat Bucky on his head.

"Good job. Thank you," Steve says. And Bucky--

Bucky has a dilemma. Because he's never wanted to kiss Steve _so bad._

Steve retracts his hand and Bucky misses it instantly. He looks away, trying to make it seem like he's taking in the festival. That he's not having a complete internal breakdown because his hot neighbor whom he has seen shirtless on numerous occasions said he was proud of him and he wants to soak in that praise. 

"C'mon, we should probably stop Darcy from taking her shirt off," Steve says, and puts his hand on the small of Bucky's back to direct him bad to the dancing area and he just _melts_ from the contact.

The rest of the festival is fun; Bucky eats his weight in the pastries that Darcy made special for the event, there’s a potato sack race that Natasha wins (which surprises no one), and even an axe-throwing contest that Steve loses to Fury in (which surprises Bucky.) He can’t remember the last time he was at such a pleasant gathering where he knew everyone, and everyone knew him.

Steve walks Bucky home, using the excuse that he wants to check on the shed to see how much wood he’ll need to fix the rotten siding, but Bucky suspects it’s really because Steve doesn’t trust him walking home alone anymore.

He can’t help the feeling of relief, coming home to his cabin. Over the last month, it’s really become his own. It's no longer the dingy, dusty old thing it had been when he first arrived; it's warm, welcoming, and thriving. And his land is looking good, too. Except now he has to clear the used crop and salvage what he can. Tomorrow he’ll get started on planting his summer crop bright and early, and maybe get to purchasing some animals to look after.

“I think I want to get some chickens,” he decides out loud. Steve peers over at him curiously. 

“You’d need a coup for that,” Steve points out. They stop in front of the cabin, and both look about the land. 

“I think one would look rather nice over there, by the stable,” Bucky points, looking at the happy little spot with lots of sun. “Could I commission you to build me one?” he asks curiously, looking up at the blond man.

Steve seems to be in deep thought for a moment, fingers scratching the hairs on his jaw. Bucky is mesmerized for a moment, wishing it was his fingers combing through the thick beard instead. He wasn’t usually one for facial hair, but Steve’ lumberjack look made it work.

Made it work a little too well.

Steve looks down at him then, and Bucky feels like he’s been caught ogling. He wants to look away, embarrassed, but Steve’s bright blue eyes make him feel like he can’t move; pinned in the moment, just the two of them standing there, looking at each other.

“You know I can’t say no to you,” Steve says with a tilt of his lips, eyes shining with mischief. And--does Bucky know that? He doesn’t think so; when could that have happened?

Since when could Steve not say no to him?

He wants to ask, wants to see what Steve meant. They’re in a bubble of their own making; the afternoon sun shining through the leaves of the woods around them, birds chirping, the noises of a forest swaying from a gentle breeze. It’s serene, is what it is--and with Steve’s eyes on him, studying him, looking at him like there was something to say between them.

He wants to ask.

But he doesn’t.

“It’s settled then,” Bucky says, and pulling himself away from Steve feels like it’s the hardest thing he’s done in a while. He doesn’t know why, but there is a magnetic pull there trying to bring him in.

But… so much has happened in such a short time. Bucky just exited a serious and long relationship; he should give himself time, shouldn’t he? He came here to make something for himself, not fall dick-first into the first hot guy he sees. He should focus on himself for a while, shouldn’t he?

He feels it in his gut that he’s making the wrong decision; he can _feel_ the opportunity miss him as he turns away, like a shooting star just out of reach.

“Sure," Steve says, rather abruptly. Bucky turns back to him, curious about the tone of his voice, but Steve is already walking away. “See you later, then,” Steve says, waving his hand in goodbye as he goes. 

Bucky stays and watches where he’s left long after he’s gone, wondering if he’s ever going to make the right decisions in his life.

~*~

Out of protest, Bucky sleeps in Steve’s shirt for the next two nights before he has to wash it. 

He goes ahead and plants his summer seed, making some adjustments in the arrangements that he’d learned from his spring crop. He gets some blueberry bushes going, three rows of corn, a few patches of melons, and even some sunflowers.

Steve keeps his promise and builds him a chicken coop. He does so with his shirt on, unfortunately. Bucky worried that he had made things weird between them from the intense interaction they had had on the day of the spring festival, but the next time he saw Steve everything was back to normal.

Over the following week, Clint teaches him how to fish, and Bucky finds himself frequenting the little body of water south of his property but Natasha and Sam’s to practice. He catches several catfish and shad, and he starts to enjoy the strain of his muscles from weeding his crops and casting his line to fish everyday. He grows tan, and frowns at the freckles that are starting to appear across his nose. 

Becca calls, and they make plans to have her come up for a week to see the cabin and to check in with him. He knows he should be calling his family more often, and maybe even go back to the city to see them, but he can’t bring himself to leave this little world he’s carved out for himself. He thinks Becca may understand, and said she was happy to come see him.

On a sunny Saturday morning, he decides to go pester Steve and fish up at the lake near his cabin. He wants to try his hand at catching sturgeon that Clint says are up there, and even if he isn't successful he'll be able to enjoy Steve's company. He does his morning chores, feeds his two new chickens that he had purchased from Aunt May, and grabs his fishing gear and heads up the little trail to Steve’s.

He hasn’t had many more thoughts about Brock, lately. He’s feeling good, like that chapter of his life is finally finished. He’s not sure if he wants to spend the rest of his life here in Windrip Valley, but it’s nice enough to enjoy it while it lasts. Maybe after a while, he’ll miss the perks of living in the city, close to his friends and family. But, he thinks, he’s made a lot of friends here, too. He didn’t think it will be easy to part with this village, or the people in it.

He reaches Steve’s cabin, and knocks on the front door. It was a perfect day to fish; the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the water was calm and peaceful.

He door opens, and he turns with a smile to demand that Steve come fishing with him (he said he can’t say no to Bucky--it was time to test that theory) but--

But it’s not Steve who answers the door.

It’s a woman.

She watches him, eyebrows raised in question at him. She has rich brown hair pinned up above her head in a messy bun, red lips and warm brown eyes. She looked well put-together; a white button up shirt tucked into pressed grey trousers. Her feet were bare.

“Can I help you?” she asks, head tilting. 

“O-oh--uh, Steve?” Bucky asks, brain not functioning well enough to form a complete sentence. Who was this woman? Why was she in Steve’s house? Why was she _answering the door?_

“Oh, sorry, Steve’s a little busy at the moment,” she says, and looks over her shoulder into the house. She turns back to Bucky with a smile, like she’s laughing. She looks down at his hands, full of fishing gear. “I can tell him you stopped by though…?”

Bucky gulps, and nods. “Y-yeah, uh, that’s fine. Thank you,” he says. “Bucky,” he says quickly, almost forgetting that she doesn’t know who he is.

“Ahh, the newcomer,” she says, bright red lips pulled in a grin. And Bucky--feels weird, that she’s heard of him when he doesn’t know who she is. “I was a newcomer here myself not too long ago,” she says, folding her arms across her chest and leans up against the doorway.

“Oh?” he asks, and finds his eyes looking over her shoulder to see if Steve was there. Where is Steve? Why is she here?

“A word from experience: Don’t be naive in thinking these people are your friends. You are a means to an end,” she says.

And her words make Bucky freeze. He stares at her, and she looks--smug, like she knows something he doesn’t. Like she’s making fun of him, like he’s some child who is doing something stupid and she’s a grownup looking down at him.

And he knows who she is. He can’t deny it, he _knows._ She’s here, in Steve’s house--what used to be the house they shared together. Because they were engaged. 

He doesn’t know what to say. How do you respond to that? And he wonders--is she right? So many people have told him how glad they were he was doing something with “that old farm.” But does that mean…? 

No, he’s making friends here. The people here like him, and he adds to the community. What had Steve told him? As long as he doesn’t bother anyone…

But is he bothering Steve? Has he done something to annoy Steve? People have done so much for him--how could he keep track of what they’ve done out of the goodness of their hearts and what they've done because Bucky is weak and pathetic? Steve found him stumbling around drunk in the dark, for fuck’s sake. How could Bucky _not_ be a pest?

And what--what does she know? What is she laughing at, with that smirking and those amused eyes?

He turns around and just--

He just starts running.

He hears her call out after him, but he doesn’t turn around. He just runs, hands full of stupid fishing gear and feet clumsy on the dirt ground.

He’s certain he knows who she is. He’s certain, and if it’s true, then Bucky shouldn’t intrude. Bucky shouldn’t keep trying to weasel himself into a comfortable place with Steve, shouldn’t kid himself into thinking that he and Steve could ever work when Bucky finally gets around to accepting his feelings.

He doesn’t think she’s right, doesn’t think she knows what she’s talking about. But he can’t deny it--she’s planted a seed of doubt inside of him, one he can’t dig into and take out. It’s going to stay there, fester and grow.

If Windrip Valley and the people in it taught him to hope, then Peggy Carter taught him to doubt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the cliffhanger!! Next few chapters will he happier, I promise :')


	4. ripe June had leaf and shady friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> First, I'd really like to apologize for the delayed update! I wanted to rewrite a part of this chapter and still had not finished editing when the end of the semester kind of took me by surprise. I don't want to make excuses, but grad school required a lot of my time, energy, and brain power (and a whopping 14k+ words worth of academic writing x.x) so this project was definitely on the back burner.
> 
> That being said, this is a much happier chapter with a resolution of some things and the final building of the plot before we finally get to the good stuff ;) Please let me know what you think!
> 
> I should be back to a regular weekly update. Thank you to everyone who have left kudos, comments, have bookmarked and subscribed <3 I really hope I don't disappoint you!!

It's not exactly difficult to avoid Steve because his sister comes to stay with him the next week. 

He’s not _trying_ to be dramatic, but he had no idea what he’d say to Steve _or_ Peggy if he saw either of them, and it had been well over a month since he had seen his sister so he figured it all worked out. She arrives in Windrip Valley like a goddess coming down from the heavens to forgive him of all of his sins… and preoccupy from him thinking about certain shirtless lumberjacks just a mile up the road.

It’s a beautifully sunny day when he greets her at the lonely little bus stop. There’s a small parking lot across the street where she parks her fancy car, and he practically runs into her arms when she climbs out. Laughing, he picks her up in the hug and swings her around a bit. 

She looks great, of course. Her hair is down and straight, sunglasses on the top of her head and a pretty grey maxi dress that hugs her curves in the right places but is still loose enough. She has a jean jacket with the sleeves rolled up over her dress, and Bucky eyes her pedicured toenails from where they peek out from her sandals. He hopes she packed sneakers because she’s going to hate herself walking through the woods with sandals for a whole week.

“Perfect timing,” Bucky says as he helps her grab her luggage from her trunk. “I just finished my morning duties. I can’t believe you got up so early to make it here by lunch,” he says. She follows him down the path to his cabin, looking around appreciatively at all of the nature. He can't blame her; the woods surrounding this little town were beautiful.

“Morning duties? Man, you really are taking this farming thing seriously,” she teases. He can’t help the smile that crosses his face as they get closer and closer to the property. She has _no_ idea.

“I mean, I caught the fish we’re eating for dinner, and grew the vegetables, and I even have eggs for breakfast,” he says, not being able to help the slip of a giggle when he mentions the chickens.

Becca nearly drops her bag, pulling her big designer sunglasses down her nose to look at him in shock.

“No! Eggs? Jesus, Bucky. Do you chop your own wood, too? Go down to the well to get water for your bath?” She laughs, trying to catch up to him.

Just as Bucky laughs out loud, the forest opens up to the clearing of the farm. The actual property in his grandfather's name is a few acres, but in terms of usable property that the cabin and other buildings sat on was about two acres. He’s only used about a quarter of one acre so far with his crops, and still had plenty of space to continue to grow.

“Oh my god, Buck,” Becca says as they come to a stop at the entrance. Bucky smiles wide, putting his hands on his hips and looking around.

“So the cabin, shed, and stable were all already here of course,” he says, pointing to each. He’s finally gotten the shed and stable completely cleaned out, and now just had to figure out what to do with them. “I just had the coop built a week ago, so I haven’t had the chickens for long but they’re sweet. I was thinking by Fall I could have all of my crops doubled, and was kind of playing around with the idea of getting maybe an orchard going by Spring next year so that--”

“Spring?” she asks, turning to him. Her sunglasses are now pushed up to the top of her head, pulling her hair behind her ears. Her eyes were an icy blue, just like his, and they looked concerned. 

“Well, I don’t know. Nothing is set in stone, it’s just daydreaming you know,” he says, avoiding her worrying look. They both go back to observing the property, not wanting to fall down that rabbit hole just yet.

“It’s real nice, Buck. You’ve done good,” she says, rubbing his shoulder. It _is_ nice.

“C’mon, I’ll show you inside. I made it nice and cozy. You wouldn’t _believe_ how much I had to clean when I first got here!” Becca laughs, trailing after him.

After he gives Becca the grand tour of the cabin and helps her settle in with a quick lunch, they walk around the property for a while, enjoying the warm sun on their skin. She seems genuinely interested in all of the work that Bucky has done, and even asks him to send some crops home to her and their parents. The sun is hot on their backs, and they eventually have to retreat into the cooler house.

Becca brings her laptop to keep up with work, but because Bucky still hasn’t managed to get Tony out to install internet out at the property, she can't get any work done at the cabin. Bucky is able to beg off going to town until the next day--and really, he _does_ want to introduce Becca to everyone, especially Darcy--but he’s still anxious of running into Steve or Peggy.

They cook dinner together, dancing around the kitchen to songs on the radio. Bucky asks how Becca's work has been, and she gives a vehemently irritated story about this prick in her office. They conspire about ways to prank him while they set the dinner table. They sit down to eat the fish that Bucky had caught and the vegetables he grew, and share a bottle of wine that Becca brought from home.

“Do you miss the city at all?” She asks, hair tucked behind her ears to show off her diamond earrings but strands still falling in her face a bit. She already looks a bit sunkissed from their time walking around the property.

“Yes and no,” Bucky confesses, swirling his wine in his glass a bit as he leans back in his chair to think. “I miss the convenience. And I miss the food, of course. Being able to order tacos at one in the morning is not something you can do up here,” he says, which gets a smile from Becca.

“But?” she prompts, knowing that there was one coming.

Bucky sighs and fidgets a bit in his chair, pushes the flyaways from his hair back.

“I don’t know. This place is like, magical in some kind of way. The people are really wonderful, and it’s been really nice being able to, y’know, make something with my hands. To know that these plants wouldn’t have grown without me,” he confesses. He doesn’t want to look up, because Becca knows him better than anyone, and he _knows_ that she’s going to very plainly see what Bucky has been hiding all along.

That he’s _lost_. He one hundred perfect, abso-fucking-lutely lost. He had no idea what he was doing when he came up here, and while he maybe has figured some of it out in the little over a month that he’s been at the cabin, he’s hiding from his problems and still has no idea what he’s doing. He brings his knees up to his chest, heels sitting on the edge of the seat of the chair, and pretends to focus on a patch of skin on his leg.

“Bucky,” Becca says, knowing exactly what he’s doing. He finally looks up across the table at her; he can’t hide from her.

He expects that knowing look, but instead she’s smiling warmly at him.

“I think it’s great,” she says, surprising him. He still can’t help but wait for the other shoe to drop.

“But?” he prompts, and she just shakes her head.

“No buts. Well, maybe _your_ butt in those shorts,” she teases, making his rolls his eyes while his face flushes.

“It’s hot!” he protests to her laughter.

“No, but in all seriousness. I think it’s great that you found somewhere to help you… work through everything. I mean, you were with Brock for so long, and you were kind of on the same path your whole life, you know?” 

He nods as she takes a sip of her wine. 

“Yeah, I went straight from highschool to college and then straight into the workforce. I don’t know, it seemed like I always had it figured out but once I actually got where I was heading I wasn’t… happy,” he says. She makes a noise of sympathy.

“And you’re happy here?” 

He nods before he even processes it, and he knows deep down that even though things are weird with Steve, he really wouldn’t trade this cabin, or this village, for anything.

Maybe not even New York.

“Yeah, I mean, so far,” he says, but she’s looking at him with that look in her eyes that tells him she knows exactly what he’s thinking. “The distance from Brock has really helped, too. I don’t know what could have happened, y’know, if I just went to yours or mom’s, but I’m grateful that I’m up here, able to keep myself away from him.”

It was a truth he hadn’t tried to give much thought to. But being his longest and most serious relationship, Brock had of course been a significant part of his life. He could see himself easily falling back into the old cycle if he were home in the city.

“Well, then I am all for you staying here as long as possible,” she says, raising her glass in a cheers and making him burst out laughing. 

Yeah, he supposes quietly to himself. He’d have to agree with that.

~*~

In the morning, they have Bucky’s promised fresh eggs from the coop. Becca insists on having him take her around town to meet everyone, but she also needs to get some work done and Darcy’s was the best and most reliable place for some decent internet connection.

So after Bucky does a shortened version of his morning chores while Becca showers and gets ready, Bucky then showers and dresses in some relaxed shorts and t-shirt to walk around town with. He convinces her to wear her sneakers, and drags her back through the forest into town.

“Oh my _god,_ look at how cute this town is!” she exclaims, looking around. He can’t help but agree with her.

He takes her everywhere; they first swing by Clint’s and talk with him for a while. Bucky figures going right to the main source of gossip was a good way to get the ball rolling. They then make their way to the library and run into Thor and some of the village kids. He takes her by the posh little store that sells cute, kitschy things and manages to run into Tony and Pepper there.

They find Fury and Natasha walking through the square and Fury seems very happy to have _two_ Barnes’ in the village, even for a short time. All of his friends that he runs into talk him up and tell Becca how glad they were that Bucky moved in, but he’s sure they’re just trying to make him look good in front of his family. 

"I'll tell you, your grandfather is a great man," Fury says to them, ranting about how the good old glory days when their grandpa lived here. Bucky has half the thought that Fury still keeps in touch with him, even though he's never outright said it. He wonders if Fury reports back to his grandfather.

He's entertaining this conspiracy as Fury talks, which is partly why he doesn’t manage to see Steve before the guy is making his way over to where he, Becca, Fury, and Natasha are all talking in the middle of the square. He only sees Steve before he’s literally walking into their conversation because Becca elbows him sharply in his side and mutters, “ _Who is that beefcake?_ ”

Bucky’s incredibly confused until he looks up and sees Steve walking over, with his stupidly broad shoulders in a stupidly small t-shirt. He’s, for once, not wearing a button-up flannel, but it was pushing 90 degrees.

“Oh, gotta introduce you to Darcy, we gotta run!” Bucky rushes to say, and then grabs Becca’s hand and manages to run away before Steve was too close. Becca has no idea what is going on, and decides to loudly voice that they weren’t in any rush. Thankfully, the pub is only a short, anxiety-induced jog from where they were in the middle of the square, and he’s able to push Becca into the pub without looking back to see Steve.

Okay, so he’s a chicken. So fucking what.

Becca pinches his tricep hard while he’s trying to catch his breath.

“Ow!” he yelps, jumping away from her.

“What the fuck was _that_?” she demands, looking genuinely irritated. “Now your friends are going to think we’re weird! What the hell has gotten into you?”

I -just--” Bucky starts, but sees Sharon come out from the back just in time to save him. “Sharon! Hi, this is my sister, Becca. Becca, Sharon,” he introduces, and pretends he doesn’t see that look of disdain on his sister’s face at her dodged question.

“Hi Becca, nice to meet you,” Sharon says with a smile and a nod. “You doing a tour, Bucky?”

Bucky laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, but we were also wondering if we could mooch off of your wifi if we buy some coffee?” He says. Sharon laughs and motions for the two of them to sit down. When she turns her back to the two of them to brew a pot of coffee on the back corner, Becca pinches him hard again.

“Ow!” he whisper-yells, rubbing the tender area that she pinched. She levels him with another _look_. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll explain myself, but later. Can you wait until we get home?” he asks. Her face softens at his words, and it takes until Bucky is well halfway into his cup of coffee to realize that he had said _home_ to Becca. He may as well start being honest with himself.

Becca and Sharon hit it off rather quickly. Apparently they both like some obscure Instagram influence and talk for ten whole minutes about how great she is. They’re both sitting at the bar talking to Sharon when the least expected person comes down from the upstairs.

It’s Peggy.

Her hair is up in a fancy French twist, lips red and clothes smart. She’s wearing another nice button up shirt, this one black tucked into cream high-waisted pants. She has a jacket slung over one arm and a handful of suitcase in another.

Bucky’s shocked for a moment, because if Peggy has been staying here at the inn, it means she hasn’t been staying at Steve’s. Which means…

“Fancy seeing you here,” Peggy greets with a smile. She sets her suitcase down where it is next to one of the tables and takes the few steps there are to close the distance between them. 

“Oh, uh, yeah. Peggy, hi. Uhm, this is my sister, Becca. She’s in town from New York,” he says, motioning to his sister. Becca turns and smiles, greeting Peggy. Peggy does the same.

“Lovely to meet you,” she says, but then looks sharply back to Bucky. “I’m actually rather glad to run into you. Do you have a moment to chat privately?”

“O-oh, uh, sure,” Bucky stutters. He avoids looking at Becca, knows her curious stare is on him and trying to assess whether she should be letting him leave with this woman. So he follows Peggy out the door and into the sunlight. A few people are still out and about, but far enough away that they have some privacy. Thankfully, Steve is nowhere in sight. Peggy steers him over to the bench a few yards in front of the pub, and Bucky is vividly reminded of his breakdown here a few weeks ago when talking with Brock for the last time.

“I’d like to apologize,” Peggy says once they get settled on either side of the bench, her legs crossed and professional. Her words make Bucky perk up immediately, and look at her curiously. 

“You don’t have to--”

“But I do,” she interrupts with a smile, those lips red and vibrant. “Not too long ago, I was a newcomer to this community.” She takes a moment to look around. All Bucky sees is the usual happy town square, with chirping birds and leaves twinkling in the wind, but… maybe she sees something different, given her history here. “Sharon is my cousin, you see. I had come out here for work, surveying a location for a new property. No doubt you’ve heard the story,” she says with a smile, because she _knows_ that he knows.

Bucky almost feels bad for all of the gossip he’s heard. He had never in a million years thought that he would meet the woman at the center of all of the controversy.

“Yes, well, no doubt I’ve been made out to be some evil villain. And I am at peace with that,” she says, averting her gaze to look out at the half of the square they were facing. The flowers that Aunt May planted in the spring were in full bloom now. He wonders if she knows each person’s influence in the town, like he does. He wonders if she had become as ingrained in the community as him, or not.

He wonders if she was lonely here, or if she had found friends like he had.

“I had initially thought that you were like me,” she confesses. The words pluck something tight inside of him. They give him a feeling that he doesn’t like.

“You know, from the big city. Maybe a little culture shock. The community is very… close-knit. It’s not easy. A lot of gossip, probably more than you’re aware,” she says, perfectly tweezed eyebrow raised. 

He thinks back to that first night, how he had walked into a room full of strangers--strangers who, at the first chance, crowded around and talked about him until he came back into the room.

Bucky gulps. Well, she’s not _wrong._

“Look, I won’t defend my actions. I came out here to do a job. I thought the people here knew about that--I didn’t keep it a secret. But they were much more interested in my relationship with Steve,” Peggy says and shrugs. “That is why I said what I said. I thought maybe I could save you some heartache. But…” She says and fixes her pretty brown eyes on him, her red lips quirking up into a smirk. “Maybe I was a little late in that.”

The comment pierces Bucky right through the heart. He looks away, feelings his cheeks flush. Gods, does she know how hard he’s been thirsting after he ex-fiance? Perhaps she was right--the people here are gossips, hungry for any type of drama or scandal. 

But they’re also wonderful, and supportive. Just at this bench, Natasha helped him off a cliff he had climbed on. Every person he’s met and gotten to know here has earned a special place in Bucky’s heart.

“I didn’t come here to do a job,” he finds himself saying. He looks at her, and she still has that smile on her face, but her eyes are soft. “I came here to find… something. Figure myself out. And the people here have done nothing to hurt me, and I don’t believe they will.”

She nods, understanding. He hadn’t expected her to be like this. He had expected her to have hate and resentment for this town and its people. Maybe hate and resentment for _him._

“I get that,” she says. “I misunderstood your situation here. I had just thought,” she says, starts and then chuckles and shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. Just know I was trying to come from a place of… relatability, not malice. And I apologize.” 

Bucky feels a little overwhelmed, but nods and says a quiet thank you. He has to swallow down some of his emotion, unsure as to why he’s so affected by Peggy’s words. It’s true that there are two sides to every story, and he had only heard a few people’s words against Peggy. He hasn’t even heard what Steve has to say about her.

But that’s the thing--it’s not really his business, is it? It hasn’t outright affected him in any way, it just _feels_ like it because he’s crushing on Steve. And now that Peggy has cleared everything up and apologized, he’s not about to dwell on anything.

“Are you leaving already?” he asks her, referring to her suitcases and trying to come off as being polite but really just painfully curious. She gives him a smile again before facing back to the flowers.

“Yes, and I doubt I’ll be back for a while. I had left a few things at the house that Steve was keeping safe for me, and I bought a few of his paintings that I hadn’t picked up yet. I’m moving back to London, you see, so I have to get everything in order now so that it makes its way to me over the pond,” she says. It all makes perfect sense, but Bucky’s brain got stuck on one thing and it’s the only thing he can think to ask about.

“Steve paints?” he asks, eyebrows creased. For some reason, the image doesn’t connect. Steve is big, muscled, and rugged. He’s always chopping wood in Bucky’s mind; carrying stuff, hammering things. The idea of Steve painting is… soft. It speaks to something inside of him that he didn’t know was there.

Peggy just chuckles, looks like she’s sharing a secret with him as she leans in a bit. Like it’s a conspiracy, like it’s forbidden to share, she raises her hand to the side of her mouth and whispers, “He paints like a _dream._ ”

It’s all Bucky can think about for the rest of the day. 

It plagues him as he goes back inside the pub, ignoring the quizzical looks from Becca and Sharon. Thankfully, Darcy comes in before it can get too awkward. Darcy insists on having both of them for dinner at the pub. Becca is enticed by good food and gossip about Bucky, and Bucky is enticed by, well…

Seeing a certain someone he’s been avoiding.

Becca takes longer to finish up her work because they keep talking and poking fun at Bucky’s expense. When he’s finally able to pry Becca off of her barstool and out of the pub, he’s wondering if maybe he shouldn’t have introduced Sharon and Darcy to her.

“Seriously, what is with you?” Becca asks him as they walk back through town to go home. Bucky’s _home._

“I--” he starts to say, looking over at her, but his words stop in his throat. Just past her, standing in front of Clint’s market, is Steve.

He’s talking to Clint and frowning, which is normal. But he doesn’t look happy, and over the last month and a half he’s learned a neutral frown from a real displeased frown. And Steve looks really displeased.

Steve looks up then, as if sensing Bucky’s eyes on him. His mouth opens a bit as he looks at Bucky, and then he closes it in a firm line. Bucky’s not sure what to do.

“Buck?” Becca prods. Bucky glances over at her, at her confused grey eyes, and makes a decision.

“Here, there’s someone I want you to meet,” he says, and grabs her hand. He marches her right up to Clint and Steve.

“There are the Wonder Twins!” Clint declares, laughing. Steve still looks serious, but a little less so.

“Hi Clint,” Becca greets, clearly amused by his cheesey jokes. She turns her eyes on Steve.

“Becca, this is Steve. Steve, this is my sister, Becca,” he says. And there. The first words he’s said to Steve in several days. He’s not a coward.

Well. Okay, yes, he is a coward. But he’s trying, at least.

“Nice to meet you,” Becca says, outstretching her hand. Steve is quick to grasp her hand in a shake. 

“You, too,” Steve says, not taking his eyes off of Becca. His hard face had softened, not looking irritated anymore.

And then Bucky has the wildest realization. How _stupid_ he is for introducing his sister, chic, smart, and attractive _Becca,_ to his stupid lumberjack crush. Steve and Becca looked like a Hallmark couple. _Why_ would he do this to himself??

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Steve says, making conversation. Clint laughs and starts retelling a story about something relating to the town gossiping about his sister’s arrival. Bucky is only half listening because he’s having an internal crisis about practically matching his sister up with his own crush.

Not that they would last, would they? Becca lives in the city, and she’s definitely not moving up here. But oh god, they would hook up whenever she came up to see Bucky. Gods, Bucky doesn’t know if he could live like this. He’s going to need to tell Becca that Steve is off-limits, even if Steve will never return his feelings.

Gods, Becca is brunette just like Peggy. And she’s a smart businesswoman from the city like Peggy, too. Bucky's spiraling, but he can't help but wonder if Steve has a type that he just helped perpetuate it. Stupid, _stupid._

He feels a warm hand on his right shoulder, and looks over to see Steve’s hand there. He looks at Steve, surprised. The blond just smiles softly at him. 

“Haven’t seen you around in a while,” Steve says, so quietly as to not interrupt Clint’s story or bring attention to them. Like so often when Bucky speaks to Steve, it’s like they’re in their own little private bubble. Like Bucky’s the only other person here.

But he knows it’s just Steve’s kindness, isn’t it? Bucky has no proof that Steve ever returned his feelings. The weird interaction they had a few weeks ago didn’t mean anything. How can Bucky be certain of anything if no words had actually been spoken?

“Yeah,” he croaks, feeling emotion welling up inside of him for no reason. It’s good to see him. Bucky missed him so much. “Sorry about that,” Bucky says truthfully. Steve smiles tight and nods, then turns back to Clint who is still talking away at Becca.

Bucky sees Becca looking at him curiously not for the first time today. Steve keeps trying to catch his eye, looking like he’s expecting something, or wanting something. But he doesn’t say anything. So the twins finish up their conversation with Clint and Steve and say their goodbyes.

“Pub tonight?” Steve asks just as they’re all turning away from each other.

“Of course,” Bucky replies, smiling. Steve nods, seeming to like that answer. Bucky wonders if he wants to see Becca more. He wouldn’t blame him.

~*~

When they get home, Becca doesn’t say anything. She just grabs another bottle of wine and two glasses and sits down at the table.

Bucky collapses into his chair with a deep sigh, and hold his glass while Becca fills it. She’s quiet, waiting for him to talk.

“I like Steve,” Bucky finally confesses after several long moments. Becca takes a long sip.

“Yeah, that was obvious. Keep going.” 

Bucky feels his face heat up in a blush, and continues to avoid eye contact.

“Peggy is his ex-fiance. She said some… not nice words to me last week, but it was a misunderstanding. She took me aside to apologize,” he says, looking down at his glass. He feels a little defeated as he says the words, but is unsure why. He feels like a balloon that’s been popped with a pin and deflated.

“Does Steve like you back?” she asks, which makes Bucky finally look up at her.

“Oh, no. I don’t think so. I mean, I haven’t told him or anything.” Becca frowns at that, then chews on her bottom lips. He doesn’t know what that means, doesn’t know what Becca is thinking about. But it’s true--Bucky hasn’t said anything, and Steve hasn’t really given any indication that he feels anything towards Bucky besides friendship. It’d be unfair of him to call dibs on a guy who may never like him back in that way, so he says, “I mean, if you t-think he’s… cute… then…”

Becca cuts him off with a sharp laugh.

“Oh my god! Bucky, no! I mean, he _is_ a hot hunk a’somthing, but gods no. I’d never do that to you!” She sets her wine glass down and reaches across the table to cover his hand with hers. “If anything, I think _you_ should tell _him._ You may be surprised.”

Bucky frowns, immediately against her words. He would _never._ But she’s giving him a look, and he knows Becca well enough that she won’t give up on this unless he relents.

“Maybe,” he says, then downs the rest of his glass and stands up. “I have to check on my chickens,” he says, and makes his retreat before she can protest.

~*~

Dinner at the pub is actually rather nice. Becca has been leaving him alone about the elephant in the room, and only gives him a concerned look when Steve shows up at the pub while they’re both eating at a table with Natasha and Sam.

Steve grabs a chair and sits with them after getting a beer from the bar.

And it’s good. Bucky’s happy to see Becca get along with all of his friends. He feels like she’s given him her approval for his life here, and even though he knows he doesn’t need it, it still feels nice to have. He’s enjoying himself until Natasha drags Becca over to meet Aunt May, Sam tagging along and leaving Bucky and Steve alone at the table.

He is pretty sure it’s a setup.

“So,” Bucky says, feeling a little awkward even though he’s pretty sure he and Steve are cool. “Find any drunk farmers in your backyard lately?” he asks, trying to be funny. Steve doesn’t look up from his beer bottle, that serious look on his face again.

“I heard you met Peggy,” Steve says instead of going along with the joke. His words make Bucky’s heart freeze in his chest.

Shit, is it bad that he met Peggy? Did Steve not want them to meet? He still doesn’t know what Steve thinks about Peggy. Bucky doesn’t really think he can form an opinion about her considering he wasn’t a part of the town when everything went down, but…

But… he doesn’t hate her. She apologized to him and explained herself, so he can’t really fault her for anything... But would that upset Steve? He doesn’t know if Steve is okay with his split with Peggy, or if he’s still hurt by it. _Of course_ he must still be hurt by it, especially given the story that Darcy had told him about that tree.

But--but it’s sticky. Bucky doesn’t know how to answer. He doesn’t want to upset Steve, so he doesn’t know what to say.

“Yeah,” he decides. Eloquent. “Yeah we, uh, met.” It’s all he can think to say. Even if Steve didn’t want them to meet, it doesn’t express any opinion he has of her.

Steve gives him a tight smile before taking a swig of his beer.

“I’m sure you’ve heard plenty of rumors about her... And me,” he says. He waits for a nod from Bucky, but Bucky just shrugs.

“I mean sure. People do love to talk here. But I, uh,” he thinks about how best to word this. “I don’t know, it’s not really my business so I don’t try to think about it. I don’t think it’s fair of me to come to any of my own conclusions,” he says.

Steve must like his answer, because his lips quirk up in a genuine smile. 

“Yeah. I mean, it’s a good thing we split. I wish she never did what she did, but it took me a long time to realize that we all just have different wants in life, you know?” Steve says, swirling the last few sips of beer around in the bottom of the bottle. “Her career comes first for her. That’s not how I live my life, but I can’t fault her for how she wants to live hers. Well, maybe for the company she works for. But there are plenty of people that are career-driven more than anything else.”

Bucky nods in understanding.

“Yeah, I can relate to her in that respect,” he says quietly, looking down at his hands holding his own beer. The others still haven’t returned yet. Steve is looking at him, questioning. Bucky feels his cheeks pinken. “I-I mean, y’know. Being career-driven. That’s how I was. Except, maybe I didn’t really know what I wanted. I just thought I knew. It was the same with--” _Brock,_ he doesn’t say.

He glances back at Steve, who is still watching him, waiting. Bucky sighs.

“I don’t know. If you met me a year ago, I’d have told you I had everything figured out. Career, finance, five-year plan, everything. So I get it. Her. Knowing what she wants to going after it. And maybe it’ll work out for her. But I…” he stops to listen to his sister and Darcy laugh together from across the room, sharing some kind of joke with his friends gathered there.

“I left everything I thought I wanted on a whim. Maybe I’m no better than Peggy in that respect,” he finishes, not exactly sure what he had been trying to say. He just felt like he needed to share that with Steve, who has shared so much with him whether intentional or not.

“You’re not,” Steve says, drawing Bucky’s attention back to him. His eyes were bright blue, handsome face open but serious. “You’re nothing like her,” he says.

And Bucky--Bucky isn’t really sure what to make of that. Two big conflicting feelings crash inside of him.

On one hand, it’s good that Steve doesn’t see him like Peggy at all. Perhaps he doesn’t see Bucky betraying this community--because he wouldn’t. He loves this place. Loves these people.

But on the other hand it… hurts. Steve must have loved Peggy a lot. And wasn’t Bucky like her at least a little bit? Just as Peggy had said; he’s a city boy up in the middle of nowhere. He used to work for a bad company, too. And anyhow, if Bucky was anything like Peggy, maybe that would mean that Steve could be attracted to Bucky, too.

Maybe it’s silly that he feels these emotions rage inside of him. Part joy from being seen as trustworthy, part devastation. Maybe it’s not right, maybe Bucky is being swayed too easily by his emotions.

Whatever the truth may be, one thing is for sure: he’s sure as hell never telling Steve about his feelings.

~*~

It’s been two days since Becca went home, and Bucky wakes up feeling like his head was full of cotton. He doesn’t have a sore throat, but he does feel rather feverish. While he’d like nothing more than to stay in bed for the rest of the day, he had been putting off major work in the field while Becca was over. He has a _ton_ of weeding to do.

So, he regretfully pulls himself out of bed and into the kitchen where he has a cup of coffee and some breakfast. He hopes the coffee will make him feel a bit more like himself, but he has no luck. He decides to just work until he gets everything watered and the really big weeds pulled, and he’ll call it an early day.

He starts with his chickens, who are happy to see him with their morning feed. He collects what eggs have been laid, and gives them all equal pets to make sure he continues to strengthen his bond with them. After he’s put away the eggs, he gets to watering his crops and assessing what work is dire and what work can be put off.

By the time he really starts digging into the weeding, the sun is high and scorching above him. He feels a bit like he’s under water, and despite the sunhat on his head, he’s pouring sweat and feeling much too hot. When he’s about halfway through what he wants to get done, he falls back into the dirt to lie on his back between two rows of melons that are starting to come in rather nicely.

The sun is bright and fiery on him. His head is aching, but he feels better being horizontal for a moment. He closes his eyes, hoping that lying here will help his headache subside for a little while so he could finish his chores. The birds were singing around him, and the lovely sound of the leaves chattering from the breeze was soothing and relaxing.

Before he knows it, he’s falling asleep.

He wakes up twice. The first time, the sun is unbearable. He feels so hot he can barely breath; the air thick and choking. He needs to get up and go inside, but his head feels like it’s being split open. He opens his mouth to bring in a lungful of air, but his mouth is dry and tacky. He groans, and promptly falls back asleep.

The second time he wakes, someone is shaking him and saying his name. He feels groggy, like he’s stumbling through a fog and none of his senses are working properly. He thinks he must say something, or at least make a noise, but he’s not sure of anything except for how hot it is and how terrible he feels.

He feels himself lifted up, one arm hooked under his knees and another tucked behind his back. The side of his face is pressed into a shirt, and he groans a little at the sudden difference of altitude and position.

“Shh,” they say, and start carrying him somewhere. He tries to open his eyes, but they feel so heavy it’s like it’s impossible. He dozes, vaguely aware of being brought inside and set down on a comfortable surface.

It’s his bed, he realizes belatedly. He presses his face into his pillow as his shoes are taken off his feet, and falls asleep again.

He’s awoken for a third time by someone pressing something cold to his chest. He whines at the uncomfortable feeling, and he’s torn because he is hot and the coolness down feels good but it’s also a shock to his system. His lungs feel heavy as he tries to breathe. That’s not good, is it? 

A wide hand settles over his forehead, and it’s lukewarm and feels nice.

“Definitely a fever, and his lungs don’t sound too good,” someone is saying. “Definitely not good that he was out in the sun for who knows how long. It could be made worse by sun sickness, he’s looking a little sunburnt,” they say.

“Should I get him in the tub? How do we get his fever down, he looks so uncomfortable,” another voice says. Bucky’s brain is slow, and his eyes crack open to try and see but the room is dizzy and hazy.

 _Steve,_ he thinks. Steve’s here. He missed Steve.

“I’m here, Buck,” Steve says. Bucky hears a whine, and belatedly thinks it might have been him who made the noise. The hand on his forehead moves down to his cheeks, and Bucky leans into it.

“Bucky, it’s Dr. Banner. Can you tell me what hurts?”

Oh, the doctor. That is probably a good thing. Good idea.

He opens his mouth to speak but his throat is so dry he just wheezes. He swallows reflexively and his throat _burns_ from it, making him groan. His head is still pounding, and his whole body feels heavy and sluggish.

He lifts his hand to point to his throat, and then his head.

“Wa’r,” he rasps, and the hand on his cheek is gone in an instant.

His blurry vision is finally starting to clear, but he still feels like a million pounds of weight is pressing his body down. The doctor comes up to him and feels around his throat. 

“You do feel a little swollen. Can you open wide for me, please?”

Bucky obeys and opens his mouth, tongue out. A wooden stick holds his tongue down a bit and Dr. Banner shines a small flashlight into his mouth to look at his throat.

“It’s not red, so I don’t suspect an infection. Let’s start you off with some basic cold medicine and then see if it gets worse. Did you faint outside?”

Bucky’s eyes have slipped back closed, and he shakes his head no. The doctor hums in acknowledgement. 

He hears rather than sees Steve come back into the room.

“If any of his symptoms get worse, we can take him to the hospital. As is right now, let’s see if this medicine helps and see how he feels tomorrow morning,” Dr. Banner was saying. 

Bucky feels Steve sit next to him on the bed. He cracks his eyes open, looking up at that handsome face. Steve’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and his beard looks a little more unkempt than usual.

“C’mon, let’s sit up,” Steve says to him, mouth frowning like he’s irritated but Bucky knows better. The way his eyebrows are pinched together tells him that he’s concerned.

Steve’s arm snakes between his back and the bed and eases him up into a sitting position. He feels heavy and groggy, and his muscles are achy in a weird way. He feels like he got the shit beat out of him.

He rests heavily on Steve’s side, who is bringing a cup of water up to his mouth. Bucky holds Steve’s hand holding the cup, and takes a few sips. The water is cold, and feels amazing down his throat even though his mouth tastes funny from sleeping.

“Here you go,” Dr. Banner says, and holds out two little white pills for Bucky to take. His fingers tremble a little, though he’s not sure why. He feels weak all over and just wants to go back to sleep. 

Bucky places the two pills in his mouth, and then Steve helps him take another few sips to wash it down. When he’s finished drinking the water, Steve doesn’t move.

“Call me if there are any changes. I’ll be back tomorrow to check in,” Dr. Banner says as he packs his things. Bucky wants to thank him for coming, but his face is resting on Steve’s shoulder and his eyes have fallen closed again.

He hears Steve thank Dr. Banner, and the last thing he remembers is the quiet footsteps of the doctor leaving.

He dreams of the forest; of trees as tall as the skies. He dreams of the thick green canopies, the light breaking through the cracks of leaves from above. He dreams of the sound of swaying grass, and the little pitter-patter of squirrels running about.

He dreams of Steve, set up with an easel and canvas, painting the woods. He has a crease in his brow, but it's from concentration. He’s lounging around on a blanket behind Steve, watching the man paint. He stretches out on the blanket, face pressed towards the earth as he basks in the happy breeze.

“ _You’re like a cat laying in the sunlight,_ ” Steve says to him, humor in his voice. The man is smiling down at him. He puts down his paintbrush down and comes to sit next to Bucky.

“ _I’m comfortable,_ ” he says to Steve. Steve chuckles warmly, and brushes his bangs from his forehead. Bucky feels so light and free, his face pressed into the warm, soft blanket.

“ _I’m glad one of us is,_ ” Steve says, which doesn’t make sense. The blond man bends down and kisses Bucky’s forehead.

Bucky wakes up, slowly, and then all at once.

He’s laying on Steve, head tucked into the crook of his armpit, face cushioned by the side of his pec. He smells lovely, and is warm.

“Hi,” Bucky says meekly, voice rough and head still feeling like it’s stuffed full of cotton. He's distantly aching in a way that tells him he’s definitely going to need a painkiller soon. Steve’s free hand pushes Bucky’s bangs away and holds his palm flat against his forehead. His hand isn’t cold, but it feels nice against his burning skin.

“Hi,” Steve says back. “How are you feeling?” 

Bucky takes assessment of his body. He’s still aches all over, like his muscles all collectively decided to get strained all at once. His throat still hurts, and he feels a little bit like he’s lost in a fog. 

“Not great,” Bucky confesses, looking up into those ocean blues. “Not the worst, though,” he says. Steve seems to relax at his words, and sinks back into the pillows.

They’re both quiet for a few moments, listening to each other breathing. Bucky half expects himself to wake up from a dream. He’s not fully processing that he’s snuggling Steve while he’s sick in bed.

“Gave me quite a scare there, Buck,” Steve says, voice thick and heavy. Bucky closes his eyes and tucks his face deeper into the nook he’s in, embarrassed.

“ _I’m sorry,_ ” Bucky says, muffled into the side of Steve’s chest. Gods, this is the second time Steve’s found him incapacitated somewhere, and the hundredth time he’s helped Bucky.

Steve takes a deep breath, and Bucky feels it all. They’re quiet again. Steve is very comfortable. He’s cozy and warm, and even though Bucky feels sweaty and gross, he still wants to cling to Steve’s warmth. He feels awful, and all he wants is to be comforted by Steve’s presence.

“I wanna see you paint,” Bucky says quietly, eyes feeling heavy as he clings closer to Steve.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, free hand coming up again to pet through Bucky’s sweaty hair. He wants to tell Steve to stop because he’s gross, but it feels too nice and he feels too heavy to work up the energy to protest.

“Yeah,” he says on an exhale, like a sigh. His eyes slip closed, and he drifts back off to sleep.


	5. the cool air is gone again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much everyone for the wonderful comments and love! I'm so glad everyone is enjoying this, and I'm almost sad to say that there is only one chapter left after this!
> 
> Please heed the updated tags list! Please note that there is a bit of accidental exhibitionism in this chapter. Please read the end of chapter note if you want more detail before reading.

Bucky wakes up in the middle of the night with a gasp.

Sitting up so fast makes his head spin, and it takes him several seconds to get his bearings. Remnants of a dream where he was tucked up in Steve’s arms fade away from him as the single horror of forgetting to feed his chickens settles in. He still feels shitty, he realizes, when he turns to get out of bed. His legs are shaky when he stands, and eyes bleary. The floorboards creak under his feet as he shuffles forward, stumbling a bit and catching himself on the doorframe to the hallway.

His head feels like it’s been filled with dust bunnies and cobwebs; fuzzy and bleary and a little achy. Despite how poorly he feels, he somehow manages to get to the living room, using the back of the couch to hold himself up. Gods, he feels awful; his head a deep, thudding ache, his throat still sore and lung congested. But he has to take care of his--

“Chickens,” he mutters to keep himself going. He stumbles through the dark of the open living area, moving towards the front door. It’s pitch black through the windows, but he still needs to check on them and feed them. He has no idea what day it even is.

“Buck?” someone asks behind him, making Bucky’s heart leap up into his throat in surprise. He twirls around quickly and regrets it immediately because it makes him off-balance. The cabin is dark, but the light above the stove is on in the kitchen and there are a few night lights throughout so that he sees a lump on the couch he had just passed.

His heart settles when he realizes it’s Steve, shirtless but in pajama pants settled into his couch. He rubs his eyes and squints at Bucky in the dim light.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks him. Bucky feels himself deflate a little.

“Chickens,” he repeats, but his voice has lost a little of the hysteria. His brain is getting fuzzy and he’s losing the sense of franticness that made his mission clear.

“I took care of them already. Go back to sleep, Buck. It’s 2 in the morning,” Steve says. 

Bucky breathes out a sigh of relief, feeling the tension leave him. If Steve says he took care of it, he trusts him. He can wait to see them tomorrow.

He sleepily shuffles back into his bedroom and leaves his door open before climbing back into bed.

Steve’s taking care of it. He can rest.

~*~

He wakes in the morning not sure what time it is. He lies there for a while, feeling gross in his dried sweat but also feeling too achy to really do anything about it. He doesn’t usually get sick, and he certainly hasn’t been this sick before; feeling like he was in a pub brawl with a sore throat and congested lungs. He eyes a pill bottle and a cup of water on his nightstand that he’s probably supposed to take.

He can remember the last time he was this ill, though it was much worse. He had strep throat and he and Brock had just moved in together. Brock didn’t exactly have great bedside manners.

He hears a clatter from down the hallway, and Bucky feels fear shoot through him. He’s not sure why, but thinking about Brock makes him fear that he somehow summoned the man to his property. 

He eases himself out of bed and covers his shoulders with his grandfather’s quilt. He’s quiet as he trudges down the hallway, and peaks around the corner into the kitchen to see--

Steve. He’s not sure why he was expecting to see Brock. But Steve’s here… cooking?

The smell of cooking breakfast meat and eggs fill his stuffy nose then. There must be coffee brewing, too, because the sweet smell of his favorite local blend is drifting through the air. He takes a few more steps until Steve notices him there, turning towards him in all of his shirtless glory.

Bucky’s never been one to care about body hair. Brock was always well-scaped, but it wasn’t like Bucky had a preference. But Steve… Steve was hairy in all the right places, thick and dark blond leading down, down…

Bucky catches himself staring at Steve's happy trail, and tries to play it off but zoning out somewhere else. When Steve finally speaks, he sounds amused.

“Hey sleepyhead, feeling better?” Steve asks, a soft smile on his mouth and eyes crinkling at the corners. Bucky feels an overwhelming feeling of affection for him.

“A bit,” he says. He still doesn’t feel great, but he’s awake at least. But part of that may be for the promise of coffee.

“Your sun sickness should have worn off by now. Have you taken your meds yet? Two every eight hours,” Steve says, stirring around what looks like scrambled eggs.

Eggs.

Bucky’s heart drops. His chickens!

“I fed them already,” Steve cuts into his thoughts, somehow reading Bucky’s look of fear on his face. “Breakfast, then you can go see them. But I’m not letting you do any work today,” Steve says firmly.

Bucky nods, letting Steve boss him around. It might feel a little too good to be taken care of. And Steve always takes care of him so well.

“Gonna shower first,” Bucky mumbles, and turns around to go freshen himself up a little. He may feel better after a nice hot shower. Steve makes a noise of acknowledgement and goes back to finishing breakfast.

In the end, Bucky is sick for three days. Steve stays with him for every one.

Bucky feels kind of bad through it all. Steve leaves him be for part of each day, having his own work to attend to. But he weeds and waters the crops under Bucky’s (distant, from the porch) supervision. He feeds and cleans the chickens, and cooks for him for the first two days.

Bucky loses himself in it a little bit, in the domesticity of it. He finds himself wondering if this is what it was like being in a relationship with Steve. Was he always this attentive, or maybe more? Did he like to be taken care of like this when he was sick? Was he always this bossy (and why did Bucky _like it so much_?)

Steve doesn’t stay the night again (apparently that _wasn’t_ a dream!) but he does make sure to continuously check on Bucky. By the second day, he’s feeling more like back to normal and by the third, he just has a headache and a cough. Steve still fusses over him, and Bucky is tempted to milk it a little but decides that he’s already taken advantage long enough.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Steve asks as they walk to the pub for dinner and drinks. Sam, Natasha, and Darcy had all come by for a short amount of time to check in with Bucky over the last four days, but he still hasn’t seen the rest of his friends for more than five minutes since he got sick.

“I’m _fine,_ you big lug,” Bucky says, all fake exasperation and a teasing smile. It gets Steve to smile at him, even if it is a tiny one. “You sure you weren’t like a nurse in another life or somethin’? You could make killin’ if you got into home care,” Bucky teases. Steve let’s out an indignant sound (which means he’s amused but caught off guard by it) and messes up Bucky’s hair.

“My ma was a nurse. Must’ve gotten it from her,” Steve says casually. Bucky clings to every word, eager to learn as much about Steve as possible. Their conversation is cut short, though, because too soon they’re walking through the pub doors.

“Hey! Patient Zero has returned!” Clint shouts, making the whole room look at Bucky and Steve at the door. Bucky feels self conscious, and curls up a little from the attention. But Steve throws his arm around Bucky’s shoulder and _laughs._

“Clint’s gonna be even more obnoxious than normal to make sure you’re in good spirits, I guess,” Steve says, herding Bucky to their usual table with Natasha and Sam.

Bucky’s heart is full.

~*~

The next few weeks are uneventful, thankfully.

Feeling better than ever, Bucky is able to catch up on all the work he wanted to do when Becca was here and while he was sick. His summer crops are coming in beautifully, and he takes his first melon to Clint who loses his shit over the size of it. The rest of his crops aren’t ready just yet, but he wakes up excited every morning to check on them in anticipation.

He’s a little surprised with himself with how much he’s enjoying life on the farm. Being surrounded by nature, growing and catching his own food, and having a property with animals to take care of and look after has satisfied his soul in ways he was not expecting. He thinks back to his grandfather’s email that fateful day, “ _Find what fulfills your soul,_ ” and he’s pretty confident he’s found it.

The only issue is Steve.

Which, is not entirely an _issue._ It’s more along the lines of a prolonged torment. 

Steve apparently doesn’t trust Bucky to take care of himself anymore because he stops by randomly several times a week. They still are in the pub more often than not, being that there wasn’t a whole lot to do in a village of 60 people hours away from any big city. But it still startles Bucky every time.

The summer months get hotter, which means less clothes. Bucky has taken to doing his work in tank tops and running shorts--and on days like today where he has been neglecting doing his laundry, yoga shorts that leave little to the imagination but get the job done in the end.

Bucky’s not expecting company. It had rained the day before so he has some work to catch up on, and is on all fours pulling weeds when one in particular gets complicated under one of his melons.

“C’mon, you. You can’t stay here,” he says to the weed, grabbing as close to the base as he can get. He wiggles a little, trying to ease it out of the soil. With no luck, he takes a deep breath to get his annoyance in order, grabs the base with two hands, and _yanks._

Of course, the weed comes free then, easy like a hot knife through butter, and Bucky flings himself backward from the force of his tug. He squawks in surprise, the force of his pull sending him flat on his back. He’s thankfully on the perimeter of his crop so he only falls back on dirt, but his upper back hits the ground kind of hard and he whines from it.

He takes a steadying breath and looks up at the cloudless day. The sky was a soft blue, and the tall trees outlining his little plot of land were topped with dark green leaves that were singing in the gentle breeze. He loved that sound.

He opens his eyes and sees Steve’s stupid face hovering over him, and his heart flies out of his chest along with a scream out of his mouth.

“Jesus, Steve! You can’t do that to me!” Bucky yells, climbing off the ground patting the accumulated dirt off of his legs. Steve is just frowning at him, looking him up and down.

Bucky looks down at himself and sees his small yoga shorts that cut just two inches past his groin, He turns, trying to obstruct the view, and feels his face heat to a level of flushed that he likely experienced when he was sick two weeks ago.

“Shut up, it’s laundry day,” he says self consciously, and starts walking to the cabin. “Why are you sneaking up on me, anyway?” he asks, walking up to his porch to grab the water bottle he has there. He turns to see Steve looking down, and quickly snaps his head up.

Was Steve just…?

Wordlessly, Steve just lifts his hand that’s carrying his tackle box and fishing rod that Bucky is just now noticing. His face is neutral

“Oh, sure. Lemme just shower and change real quick,” Bucky says

After Bucky showers off the sweat and dirt and changes into something less revealing, they spend the rest of the day fishing at the little pond south of Bucky’s property. Bucky enjoys days like this with Steve the best; they grab a few beers, camp out somewhere near shade, cast their lines, and make fun of each other for hours.

Steve tells him a little bit more every time, and Bucky grabs on to each and every little morsel about his life that he shares. He learns Steve was a Marine for eight years before coming back home to the peaceful life. He learns about his mom passing away shortly after. He learns more about how Steve had met Peggy, and how they had parted.

He feels warm all over at his collection of tidbits he now knows about Steve. With summer at its height, Bucky’s been in this town for nearly two months now. He went from knowing no one at all, to finding some of the best friends he’d ever find anywhere. Most of all, he was able to meet and get to know Steve.

Bucky shares a bit about himself, too, but he feels rather boring. He embarrassingly admits that he was pretty sure he knew exactly where he was headed in life until that fateful day. He even discloses how he broke up with Brock, feeling shame bubble up in his chest.

“You do what you have to do. There’s not always only one right way to do something. Sometimes, you can only do as much as your heart will let you,” Steve says, looking up at Bucky through his dark lashes from where he is laying in the grass. Bucky feels himself stop breathing, caught off guard by the sheer cheesiness of Steve’s words, but also the truth ringing through them.

He’s not sure if he should ruin the moment by making fun of Steve. He wants to break the tension between them; tell a joke to get off such a serious topic, go back to smiling and laughing and not staring at each other with unspoken words between them.

But before Bucky can say anything, they’re interrupted.

“There you are!” Darcy shouts from across the pond. Bucky’s head shoots up and over to look at her as she waves at them dramatically. Steve sits up on his elbows.

“Hey!” Bucky calls back, and both Bucky and Steve watch as she walks over. She’s wearing workout shorts and a loose t-shirt with her hair up in a messy bun, much more casual than Bucky has ever really seen her. As she approaches, Bucky feels a twinge of sadness that his alone time with Steve was coming to an end for the day.

“What’s up?” Bucky asks as Darcy stands before them. She puts her hands on her hips and frowns down at them. Bucky frowns back. “What?”

“You forgot, didn’t you?” Darcy asks, tapping her foot a bit. Bucky scrunches his eyebrows in confusion, and then all at once he realizes.

And then feels like a _dick._

“Oh shit!” he yelps, jumping to his feet and reeling in his line. “Fuck! I’m so, so sorry, Darce!”

Darcy rolls her eyes, but is smiling now.

“It’s okay, I’d get distracted by this hunk of meat, too,” she teases. Bucky ducks his head, face furiously flushing from her comment.

Steve is utterly confused.

“What’s going on?” he asks, sitting up all the way. Darcy makes a hand gesture towards the two of them.

“I called dibs on Bucky this afternoon to help me move some stuff at the pub and you stole him from me,” Darcy accuses, but is teasing. Steve looks up at Bucky, who was now organizing his tackle and cleaning up his stuff.

“I’m sorry! I totally forgot, it’s not Steve’s fault!” he complains, and finally stands up straight with his tackle box and rod, cheeks hot from embarrassment. “C’mon, let’s not waste time, I already made you waste half the day,” he ushers, nudging her away from Steve so she couldn’t embarrass him anymore. She elbows him in the side and laughs.

“Oh c’mon, it’s not that bad,” she laughs at his exaggerated ‘ _oof_ to being elbowed. He turns back to Steve and waves.

“Sorry! Catch up with you later!” Bucky shouts, and runs away with Darcy in tow.

She teases him the whole way to the pub, and they enter the empty building to find the place in mostly working order but with boxes everywhere.

Darcy directs Bucky with where to help move what. She’s trying to renovate the upstairs rooms to have a little more character, so some of the furniture will be moved down into the basement and some of her new purchases will then be moved into the upstairs.

They work for maybe two hours getting everything mostly sorted. She promises him an ice cold beer when they are finally down to the last box.

“Here, I can bring it down. Go get me that beer,” he says, picking up a rather heavy box and follows her down the hallway to the stairs. Apparently Darcy had really been doing some cleaning and purging today, because this box was full of paper and notebooks, assumingly record keeping of the funds and purchases throughout the years. Darcy heads down before him.

“So are you and Steve fucking yet, or what?” she asks him casually when she rounds the corner of the bar, which is exactly when Bucky misses a step and--

He tries to right himself as he falls back, but then over-corrects himself and falls forward. It’s over too quickly--he’s a crash of paper, cardboard, and limbs down the last four steps. Darcy shrieks and runs over to him, finding him, face-down into the hardwood floor of the landing.

“Oh my god, Bucky! Are you okay?” she asks, kneeling down to help him sit up. He groans, wincing at his sore knees and arms, but yelps when he tries to use his left hand to push himself off of the ground.

“Fuuuuck,” he groans, finally sitting back against the wall and holding his arm to his chest. He peeks down at his wrist, which is definitely already swelling and bruising. Attempting to move it makes pins and needles of pain shoot through his arm, and it hurts like a bitch.

“Fuck, I think I really hurt my wrist,” he bemoans, staring down at it. Darcy is worrying over him, gently touching his arm and pulling to closer for her to see.

“Shit, we’re gonna need to go see the Doc,” she says, her big eyes wide and sad. “Fuck, Bucky, I’m so sorry!”

Bucky just shakes his head, looking down at his battered wrist.

“Steve’s gonna fucking _kill me,_ ” he moans.

~*~

Darcy helps him up and walks him over to Dr. Banner’s clinic just behind the pub in the plaza. Thankfully, no one is really out to see Bucky’s walk of shame, and Bucky is extra grateful that Steve is nowhere in sight.

Dr. Banner hurries him to the back to take a scan of his wrist, and frowns down at the results.

“Definitely broken, but it’s a very clean break. We can thankfully set it and cast it today,” he says. Fuck, Bucky thinks. There’s no hiding this from anyone once he’s seen walking around with a _cast._

He reluctantly obeys the doctor and winces through the setting and the casting of his wrist. Within an hour, he’s as good as he can be given the situation; cast setting (Darcy convinced him to do a light blue cast. Bucky just looks forlornly at it and wonders how he’s supposed to harvest his summer crop with this fucking thing.) Darcy looks upset throughout the whole process, and he has to assure her several times that it wasn’t her fault (even though her question totally caught him off-guard).

Bucky’s just signing his final paperwork at the counter in the front, tired to hell and feeling his painkillers finally kick in, when Steve bursts through the door.

There are a few other people in the waiting room, and they’re all looking at him as he stands dramatically in the doorway breathing heavy. Bucky, for lack of a better idea of what to do, smiles and waves with his casted arm.

Steve does _not_ look happy.

Steve doesn’t say anything as he waits by the door for Bucky to finish. Darcy takes that exact moment to say bye to Bucky and runs away back to the pub. He frowns at her retreat, feeling betrayed for being left to fend against Steve by himself. Coward.

Steve stands big and hulking behind him, with his stupidly big biceps bulging from his arms being crossed against his chest. He’s standing tall and looks fucking intimidating. Bucky wants to tease him, make a comment that Steve’s supposed to make him feel _better,_ not _worse,_ but holds his tongue because Steve looks really pissed off.

When they exit the clinic, Bucky’s about to say something when Steve quite literally scoops him up, turns, and then sets Bucky in the horse-drawn wagon he has. Bucky wants to protest-- he doesn't use his _hand_ to walk home, and besides being in a little pain and being a little crabby, he felt fine.

But Steve turns away from him and grabs the reins to help direct it towards the path to Bucky’s cabin. His back is big and intimidating, and whatever Bucky wants to say to him dies on his tongue. He slouches into the wagon and huffs in annoyance as Steve and the horse take him home.

They make it back to Bucky’s cabin in silence. Steve literally picks him up from the wagon when Bucky is apparently too slow getting off, and is placed gingerly on the ground before the walk-up. Steve heads in first, leaving Bucky to trail in after him, confused and tired.

“You should go lay down for a bit,” Steve says with his back to him, words clipped and voice tight. Bucky frowns.

“What are you, my mother? Jeez, Steve, chill out. It’s just a--”

“It’s not ‘ _just a_ ’ anything!” Steve snaps, turning his head but still keeping his back to Bucky. The younger follows him into his kitchen where Steve is starting to fuss around. Bucky frowns, pressing himself against the wall there and watches Steve throw a tantrum.

After several minutes of standing there, pressed against the wall and watching Steve stomp around in his kitchen, Bucky starts to feel like he’s done something wrong. Steve is clearly frustrated. He slams a cabinet closed after taking out a cup and starts to fill it with water as he shakes his head.

“What, are you actually _mad_ at me? I’m the one that’s hurt! How does that make _any_ sense?” Bucky protests, his good hand waving wildly in the air. Steve works his jaw, looking more and more irritated by the moment.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re always getting yourself into trouble. Jesus Christ, what’s a New York twink like you thinkin’ doin’ half the shit you’ve done up here in the wilderness?” Steve bites, eyes looking feral. Bucky’s brain lags, caught on--

 _New York twink? What the fuck? Did Steve just call him a_ twink?

“Christ, you could have died how many fuckin’ times now? How many more times am I gonna come across you lost or passed out somewhere? Givin’ me a fuckin’ heart attack and needing to help you home or take care of you,” Steve bites.

He finds his mouth moving before his brain can catch up, fueled by annoyance and irritation.

“If you have such a _fucking problem_ with taking care of me then you--”

Steve slams his cup down on the counter, water sloshing over. 

“How do you not _get it_? Christ, how thick are you? Of course I don’t mind taking care of you. Jesus, Bucky, who knows what would have happened if I hadn’t found you the last _three times_!” Steve yells. He looks bigger, like a cat puffing himself up to look intimidating--and it’s working.

Except, Bucky’s not scared of Steve. Not at all. Bucky is wholly and inexplicably _turned on_ by it.

“I just don’t understand what gets in your head! How do you keep finding yourself in these situations? Did this happen to you in the city? Because Christ, Buck, I can’t even think about you being in trouble like this and not being found by someone! You need to start _thinking_!”

Steve looks mad, and now he’s pacing. He’s big and angry and slamming cups and Bucky has never been so turned on by something as weird as this before but it’s so _Steve._ He’s angry because he’s _concerned for Bucky_ and that lights a fire in his gut like nothing has before.

He’s never had anyone so worried about him that they get _mad._ Bucky doesn’t know what to do with this.

“Guess I can’t think for myself, then,” he sasses, and Steve’s angry eyes turn on him and _holy shit,_ he is hot as fuck when he’s mad. Steve stalks to him, jaw working again in a way that suggests he can’t believe what he’s hearing and he’s trying to formulate a response. Bucky tilts his head, hands crossed behind his back, and looks up a little at Steve towering over him.

“You think this is _funny,_ Buck? Here I am worried sick, and you’re over here laughing?” Steve asks, voice _dangerous._ The low timbre making Bucky’s insides vibrate.

“A _city twink_ like me needs some kinda guy to think for him, I guess,” he says defiantly. And Steve--

Steve looks mad, but then understanding all at once. He grabs Bucky by the hips, not giving even enough time for Bucky to startle a gasp before crashing their mouths together.

It’s-- _everything._

Steve is all anger and bite, forcing himself in and taking him over. Bucky can barely hold on, his good hand and his casted hand both trying to cling to Steve’s ridiculously strong arms holding him tightly. Steve’s fingers press in hard at his hips and his head angles more to the side to get a better vantage of devouring Bucky’s soul.

Bucky moans into it, barely able to keep up with the kiss until he realizes that he doesn’t even need to do anything but let Steve take care of him. He goes limp, letting the older, bigger man hold him close, bringing their chests together but also their groins.

When Bucky’s hard cock is pressed against Steve’s thigh, he chokes out a moan into the kiss. Steve freezes and pulls back slowly. By the time Bucky’s brain catches up that he’s not being kissed anymore, his eyes flutter open to see Steve glancing down at where they’re touching. To Bucky’s embarrassment, his erection is very evident in his thin shorts.

Bucky doesn’t know what any of this means. Steve kissed him, and is clearly concerned for him. They’ve been friends, and maybe they are attracted to each other. But nothing has been established; are they in love with each other? Just friends with benefits? Has Steve never been with a guy before, and is just experimenting?

Bucky doesn’t know, and quite frankly if this is the only chance that he’s ever going to get with Steve, he is going to fucking take it. Test it to see how far it can go. That’s why he tightens his grip on Steve’s arms and tugs him forward. Steve tears his eyes away from Bucky’s tented shorts and looks at him, a fire in those bright blue eyes.

“ _Steve,_ ” Bucky pleads, pulling him in more. Steve doesn’t seem to deliberate about it. He removes his right hand from Bucky’s hip, fists his bun at the back of his head, and drags Bucky back in.

Bucky is pressed against the wall, Steve’s hand tight in Bucky’s hair and pulling it in a way that angles Bucky’s head up so that Steve can kiss him deeply. He’s losing himself in it, hips making aborted little grinds against Steve’s leg because it feels _so good_ and he’s imagined kissing Steve for _so long._ A deep hum at the back of Steve’s throat sets Bucky’s insides on fire, and they part from their second kiss slowly.

“Please,” Bucky begs, hoping Steve gets it. Hoping Steve knows what he’s asking for. He doesn’t know what this is between them, but he wants to find out, and wants to see how far he can take it.

He really wants to see if Steve will fuck him.

“Bucky…” Steve sighs, and lowers his head. He releases his hold on the younger and takes a step back, but it feels like a mile to Bucky’s heart. “We shouldn’t,” Steve says.

Bucky’s hands slip off of Steve’s. “You don’t,” his brain is slow processing the information. Did he just ruin his friendship with Steve? Shit, he did, didn’t he? He’s done nothing but mess everything up from start to finish. “You don’t… want me?” he asks timidly, voice breaking a little at the end. He feels the rejection well up inside him.

“Oh, no, sweetheart, of course I want you,” Steve says, immediately stepping back into Bucky’s space and cupping either side of Bucky’s face with his big hands. Bucky’s heart goes from sunken in his stomach straight up into his throat at the confession. “But you’re arm… you need to rest.”

And oh, Steve was babying him. He was mothering him. He said he wanted him--that _of course_ he wanted him.

And maybe Bucky’s wrist did hurt. He was tired and a little sore from his fall. He was probably still in shock considering he broke a body part and felt pretty unfazed by it. But he has also been thirsting for this man for _two months_ and a broken wrist was not going to get in his way of getting his mouth on Steve.

In an act of defiance, he spins them around so that Steve is against the wall and he sinks to his knees. His good hand presses to the bulge in the front of Steve’s pants, and he hears Steve make a choked-off noise. Bucky blinks up at him, trying to look innocent but challenging.

“Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop,” Bucky says, and zips down Steve’s jeans.

Steve says nothing--he just stares down at Bucky with surprise on his face; eye wide and mouth open. Bucky scoots his jeans down his hips a little, and kneads at the erection that’s on the other side of Steve’s white boxer briefs.

“ _Oh,_ ” Bucky moans, feeling the girth of him. He didn’t care that he fell down the stairs and broke his wrist. Today was the best day _ever._ “Fuck, Stevie,” he groans as he pulls the band down, down, exposing the thick thatch of dark blond pubic hair at the base of Steve’s iliac furrow that Bucky has eyed many times.

He lifts the band and pulls it down over Steve’s cock, which is just as thick as the rest of him. Steve moans in the back of his throat, dark eyes looking down at Bucky. His casted hand rests against Steve’s meaty thigh while his free hand grasps Steve’s at his base, and gives an experimental tug.

Steve groans hotly above him, and his back hits the wall. He’s still watching Bucky, eyes wide and surprised, but also heated and anticipating. Bucky jacks Steve off slowly, feeling that silky glide of his foreskin over the head, the grip of his hand wide from the girth. His mouth practically waters at the thought of taking Steve down his throat, and Steve must follow his line of thinking because one of those big hands cup his jaw.

Bucky has pretty much been ignorantly stumbling through his life, never confident in what he was doing, never exactly sure if he was doing what was right or if he was completely in the wrong. But _this,_ making someone feel good, this is something he knows how to do.

With only a flick of his eyes up into Steve’s deep blue ones, he holds Steve still and angles him forward as he finally brings his mouth down on him. He watches as Steve’s eyes flutter, but they’re still narrowly open enough to watch Bucky’s mouth sink down on him. Putting on a show, Bucky closes his own eyes, moans, and goes as far as he can without pushing himself.

Steve is big, but not freakishly so. He’s a good size in his mouth, stretching his lips a little, and a good length that he’s brushing the back of his throat before Bucky can fit him all in his mouth. He’s perfect, and warm. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed the feeling of this---making someone else feel good, how hot it gets him.

His mouth is wet and warm, and he knows how to work that to his advantage. He starts to really work Steve over, sucking the head and swiping his tongue over it as he pulls back enough, and then bringing himself back down on it until it kisses the back of his throat. Each time he bobs his head, he tries to take it further into his throat. It’s been a while since he’s done this, so he’s a little out of practice, but he figures it’s just like riding a bike.

Steve is mostly silent above him, but when he _does_ make a noise it only stokes the fire in Bucky’s own groan. He’s been thirsting after Steve for too long, and he’s a responsive and appreciative receiver if his stifled groans and the sweet petting of Bucky’s head was anything to go by.

Bucky takes him down, down, and all the way, throat spasming around the intrusion, nose pressed again that rough, thick public hair. His eyes water, and Steve’s fingers in his hair grip fistfuls.

“Oh _fuck,_ Bucky,” Steve rumbles, voice dark and deep. Bucky moans around him, tears springing forth from his eyes and breath hitching before Steve’s pulling him off by his hair.

Bucky’s breathing heavy, obviously flushed and dazed. He goes to put Steve back in his throat, but Steve is holding him back by the grip he has in his hair. The action sends arousal straight down his spin, feeling a bit like a plaything. Steve’s so big and strong, and while Bucky isn’t weak, he’s still much thinner and shorter than Steve is. It makes him tremble with want.

Steve pulls his face back more and angles it up to look at him. Bucky isn’t sure what to say, and isn’t sure what Steve wants, but his confusion is quickly answered by Steve bending down with his cock out and still wet to pick Bucky up by under his armpits.

Bucky squacks, legs shooting out from under him. They’re a little numb from being on his knees, but Steve stands him up on his feet, and then bends again to sweep Bucky up into his arms bridal-style.

“Steve!” Bucky protests, hands grasping for purchase on Steve’s pecs. Steve just chuckles and starts to walk through the cabin to Bucky’s bedroom.

“Such a fucking brat,” Steve says under his breath, and doesn’t give Bucky time to respond because he’s depositing him on the bed. Bucky sits up from where he was dropped to watch Steve pull his shirt off. “Here I am being tormented for _months,_ with your stupid little short-shorts not hiding anything, and your big doe eyes always looking up at me, and your clumsy behavior making me lose my mind, and your smartass mouth driving me to the brink and back,” Steve’s huffing as he continues to strip. Bucky sits back in aw, barely registering the words in favor of taking in the true vision of a fully naked Steve.

He has muscles everywhere, which Bucky had been aware of but was never able to see them all bare all at once. He’s truly a sight to see, with his thick hair peppered in all of the right places. His cock continues to stand erect and proud, and Bucky licks his lips at it.

“You gonna just stand there all day or are you gonna fuck me?” Bucky asks, giving Steve the sass that he knows he wants. Steve heaves out a breath through his nose, looking absolutely feral.

“Condom? Lube?” Steve asks, voice steady but deep, burning blue eyes not leaving Bucky’s until he shakily points at his dresser and says, “T-top drawer.” It’s kind of ridiculous that Steve can make Bucky go from a sassy little shit to a stuttering mess with just one look.

Steve retrieves the goodies and throws them on the bed next to Bucky before climbing on himself, in all of his naked glory. Steve’s rough--and yet somehow still gentle and considerate of his arm--as he tears off Bucky’s clothes, spreading him out on his back and running those big, hot hands up and down his thighs. 

Bucky knows his face is on fire, and his pulse is rabbit-quick in his throat. He’s anxious, but only from anticipation. That this is actually _happening,_ that Steve actually _wants_ him.

Steve is quiet as he rubs all over Bucky’s body, kissing him everywhere and kneading his soft spots like he’s trying to calm Bucky down--which, fair. Bucky feels himself relaxing into his bed, legs splaying wide open to accommodate Steve between them as the older man uses those wide palms and strong fingers to wring out all of the anxiousness in his muscles. By the time Steve is trailing down to thighs, lips kissing his navel, Bucky feels like a cooked noodle in a steam bath.

“You been with a guy b’fore?” Bucky finds himself asking, never able to tell exactly what ways Steve swung. Those baby blues look up at him as he squeezes lube onto his fingers and he smirks.

“Been around the block a time or two,” Steve replies smartly, and takes the wet pads of two fingers to rub Bucky’s hole.

He moans, head falling back from the suddenness of the pleasure, but then he has to pick his head up to look back down because he can’t miss watching this. He hasn’t been promised a repeat yet so he needs to enjoy this as much as he can.

Steve’s still smirking at him as he rubs his fingers in circles over Bucky’s hole, and he kisses the juncture of his leg and hip as he finally sinks one finger in. Bucky’s tight, and he whines as the intrusion as it’s been some time since he’s had anyone give him attention there. Steve’s slow and careful, patiently taking his time to open Bucky up in stages. He spends a considerable time on just one finger, then two. Bucky’s begging for a third, then begging for Steve’s cock but is denied and given a fourth finger.

“ _Steve,_ ” Bucky whines, good hand reaching down to grab at Steve’s wrist. He feels split open on four fingers, but they’re still not enough. Steve just chuckles and finally pulls his fingers out.

“Knew you’d beg so pretty for me,” he rumbles, and finally, _finally,_ slides a condom on and slicks himself up. He situates himself between Bucky’s legs, wet hand going to stroke Bucky’s cock as he presses the head of his cock to the clutch of Bucky’s hole, and pushes in.

Bucky slams his head back into the pillow with a shaky breath; Steve’s pressing in, slowly but continuously. It takes several moments, but when he’s finally in to the hilt he bends over and kisses Bucky deep and dirty.

Bucky moans through it, flexing his ass muscles and trying to adjust and undulate his hips to better accommodate that mammoth of a man between his thighs. Steve’s hand is still steadily stroking his cock, making Bucky’s head spin a little from the pleasure at both ends of him, all whilst drowning in Steve's kisses.

When Steve finally starts to move, he lifts his head a fraction to stare down into Bucky’s eyes, and Bucky feels pinned from all over; by Steve’s gaze, by his big body over him, by the hand on his cock, and by the unyielding cock splitting him open and subjecting him to such intense pleasure. His mouth falls open, eyes fluttering from the overwhelming feelings but he can’t look away from Steve. He feels wholly taken; protected.

Cherished.

Steve fucks him slow and deep. Just when Bucky thinks Steve is as deep as he can go, he pulls out and thrusts in even deeper. His body feels like it’s open and willing just for Steve; spread out and there just for this. Like he was made to do it; be kept in bed, safe and taken care of, for Steve to open him up and give him what he needs when he needs it and how he needs it given. Bucky will take whatever he is given.

Steve starts tugging on his cock harder, thrusts speeding up and hips slapping against Bucky’s skin. His thighs tighten around Steve, breath hitching as that unyielding force makes him feel so good, so full and perfect. Steve groans, and watching him fall apart above him makes Bucky fall apart in turn. After a few more thrusts, Bucky is coming, hands scrambling up Steve’s shoulders and moaning high and loud.

Steve replies with his own moan, hips becoming brutal before stuttering and slowing down as he comes inside Bucky. Bucky’s still spasming around him, little aftershocks of pleasure zipping through him at the over-stimulation. But it feels good, and he finds himself giggling from it.

“What’s got you all hopped up?” Steve asks, voice a gravelly rumble where his face is pressed into Bucky’s neck and collar. Bucky giggles a bit more, wrapping his arms around Steve’s shoulders.

“I don’t know. It just felt--so good? I’ve never been fucked into a laughing orgasm before,” he says, feeling happiness spill out of him in a rush. Steve just chuckles back, and lifts himself up and off to discard the condom and get them a washcloth to wipe up with.

When he’s done, he tucks Bucky under the covers with him and holds him close, kissing his forehead.

“Still can’t believe you broke your fucking wrist. What the hell is next?” Steve asks, trying to sound perturbed but Bucky can tell he’s not mad anymore. Bucky just cuddles in close, finally feeling those strong arms wrapped around him in the way he’s been dreaming about for months.

“Gotta keep you on your toes somehow,” Bucky snarks back, and soon after falls asleep to take a much needed nap.

~*~

Contrary to Bucky’s worries that this was a one-time fling, they fuck a bunch.

And _everywhere._

Bucky’s not sure if it’s him exciting Steve so easily or if Steve has just missed the comfort of another person’s body, but he’s ravenous all the time. He bends Bucky over the kitchen counter the next morning and takes him right there as the coffee brews. Bucky paints his cabinet with his release and grumbles about it until Steve cleans it up.

Steve invites him over for dinner and they fuck on the couch, and then in Steve’s bed the following day. They fuck all over Bucky’s cabin over the course of the next two weeks. It’s still hot, so Bucky’s wearing minimal clothing, prancing around his property and doing his best to work while Steve continuously gets in his way, does his work for him, and then fucks him in the bathroom with a stupid bag over Bucky’s arm when they get out of the shower (and then promptly get back in the shower to rinse off them mess they both just made).

They blow each other, give each other handjobs, have quickies but also long drawn-out fucks. It’s like they’re revisiting puberty with how horny they both are, but Bucky can’t complain. He hasn’t outright asked Steve if this was just physical, if they were just friends who have sex. Because their relationship stays the same; they eat together like always, joke around like always, go fishing, help each other work. Bucky’s not sure how this is any different from dating, unless Steve’s feelings weren’t in it.

But he ignores all of that, because he wants to just enjoy it while it is happening. He doesn’t want to spoil anything, or cut it short. He’s waited forever for this, convinced it’d never happen, and now he’s going to fucking enjoy it.

The third week into whatever this friends with benefits thing is. Bucky is in the stables cleaning out the cobwebs and moving some things around. There’s not much sense to getting a horse now while his wrist was still healing, but he was optimistic in hoping he'd have one by the fall. He’s sure aunt May would help him acquire one and teach him how to care after it. Plus, Steve has plenty of experience with horses and owns one himself.

He’s daydreaming about all of the farm animals he wants (wouldn’t it be great to gets some ducks? He bets he could corner the market on duck eggs products in this area. He didn’t think anyone else had any around here) when Steve finds him.

“What are you doing in here, you trouble maker?” Steve asks, catching Bucky by surprise and crowding him up against the wall. He’s surprised Steve found him, as he was kind of in the back of the stable, obstructed by some empty barrels and things. 

Steve kisses him down his neck, and Bucky giggles from the tickle of his nose.

“Don't worry, nothing strenuous,” Bucky replies, and tries to push Steve back a bit to keep working. “ _Steve_ ,” Bucky chastises with a laugh when Steve doesn’t move.

“Mmm, you look cute in your little cut-off overalls,” Steve hums, then sucks on the tender part of Bucky’s neck just above his collarbone. Steve’s big hands smooth down his sides and then reach back and grab big handfuls of his ass, making Bucky moans.

“Clint’s supposed to stop by and pick up his melons,” Bucky warns, albeit a little breathy. Steve’s found all of his weak spots in the last three weeks and has been exploiting them mercilessly.

“Hmm, that’s nice for him. But I’m here to get mine,” Steve says. And Bucky’s--confused for a second, eyebrows knitting together as he questions, _but Steve didn’t want any of his melons_? When Steve pulls back and spins him around a little roughly and pushes him against the stable wall.

“Steve!” Bucky hisses, but it comes out more like a whine than the biting reprimand that was intended. Steve kneads at his ass and hips through his clothing, and reaches around to unbuckle Bucky’s overalls and tug them all to his ankles in one swift motion.

“Mm, here’s what I came to get, thank you,” Steve says mock-serious. Bucky cranes his head back, and sees Steve pulling out lube and a condom from his pocket. Jesus _wept,_ is he serious?

He’s still a little pliable from that morning, so when Steve pulls down his underwear, slicks up his fingers, and immediately pushes two inside Bucky moans from doing this out in the open stable during broad daylight and not necessarily from the stretch.

The stable doors are wide open, and even though the building is bigger than his shed and they were pretty obstructed from view, he was still expecting _company_ at any time!

But he doesn’t tell Steve to stop, just gets lost in the sweet feeling of being opened up on Steve’s skillful fingers, the pads of his fingertips finding that stop inside him that makes his whole body light up. His legs are trembling by the time Steve withdraws his fingers and rolls the condom down on his dick.

“Gonna be a good boy for me and be quiet?” Steve asks, pressing Bucky more firmly into the wooden wall, lips hovering behind his ear as his cock presses at Bucky’s hole. The brunet squeezes his eyes shut and nods, feeling like his whole body was on fire. Jesus, they could be caught at any time! Anyone could walk right in and see them. Bucky could hear the breeze, and the birds singing, and his chickens clucking. They’re literally fucking outside and Bucky has no idea how to handle it.

But his mind is wiped clear as soon as Steve’s pressing in, forcing his way into Bucky’s tight, wet hole. He muffles his moan into his casted arm, eyes still squeezed shut as Steve slowly bottoms out and then--

Just starts fucking him with abandon.

The snap of his hips are sharp and brutal, one hand holding Bucky by the belly and the other creeping up his throat to cover his mouth when Bucky can’t stifle his own noises. The wet _slapslapslap_ sounds so loud in the empty stable, and he loses himself a little in the thrill of doing this outside--the thrill of being _caught._

They’v.e fucked numerous times now, and it still feels amazing; Steve’s still big inside of him, still lighting him up in ways Bucky’s surprised by. His cock swings heavy between his spread thighs, swaying harshly with every thrust. His overalls still at his ankles, restricting his moveability and utterly helpless to whatever Steve wants.

“ _\--Bucky_?”

Bucky’s eyes shoot open, hearing the distant voice. Steve’s hand tightens on his mouth, but his hips slow so they're not being so loud.

“ _That’s weird, he said he’d be here,_ ” and that’s Clint, far away enough that he’s not in the stable, but Bucky’s pulse is nearly beating out of his body at the realization that they very might be walked in on.

“ _Did he tell you where it is?_ ” Natasha asks. It sounds like they're walking around outside, just a few yards away from the stable, maybe in front of Bucky’s cabin?

His eyes rolls back a little when Steve shifts his weight and starts fucking up into Bucky hard and deep, but quiet enough that it’s not echoing in his ears anymore. Bucky’s eyes roll back, and he’s split between losing himself to the perfect feeling of being fucked and needing to come and being hyperaware that his friends are about three minutes away from finding them like this.

“ _He said he’s got a wheelbarrow full of stuff for me,_ ” Clint replies, voice sounding--closer, _shit._

Steve’s not letting up, almost like he _wants_ to be caught, or like he doesn’t _care._ Jesus, Bucky is going to die. He’s going to die of embarrassment on Steve’s cock.

(What a way to go, though.)

His heartbeat is thundering in his ears, cock throbbing, ass clutching Steve’s cock on every perfect thrust as he listens to their footsteps coming closer, and closer. Bucky’s eyes squeeze closed to tightly that it hurts, breath ragged as he tries to be quiet but he _can’t_ because trying to slow his breathing down just makings him noisier and needing more and more air.

Finally, he holds his breath as someone walks right near the open door to the stable, Steve fucking in hard and deep and so perfect, when--

“ _Clint! I found it over here!_ ” Natasha’s voice calls distantly. Clint, turns and walks away from the stable, and when they sound like they’re far enough way, Steve drops his hand from Bucky’s mouth and Bucky comes like a freight train on his frist gasp of air.

His ass convulses wildly around Steve, cock spilling untouched onto the dirt ground below him, probably dripping down into his overalls but he doesn’t care, he _doesn’t care,_ because he’s never had such an intense orgasm in his life. Steve is still fucking into him, holding both his hips now because Bucky's legs feel like Jello as they tremble and barely hold him up from the wicked jolts of pleasure still wrecking his body.

Steve finally stills, coming into the condom, and presses his face into Bucky’s sweaty back.

When they’re done taking a moment to collect themselves, Steve tidies them up and discards the condom. He pulls up Bucky’s underwear and overalls and pins them back in place, like they were never torn down to fuck him in the grand outdoors in the first place.

“Just what I needed,” Steve chuckles into Bucky’s neck, the younger still breathing heavily as he leans against the stable wall to contemplate ever getting involved with this absolute devil of a human being.

Jesus Christ, that was both the best and worst experience of his life. His teeth are still buzzing from the intensity of that orgasm. Let it be known that Steve Rogers is a fucking menace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, this is a bit of exhibitionism between two characters engaging in sex outdoors. They almost get caught, but ultimately are not seen.


	6. it's been a long season through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for minor violence from an altercation. No one is hurt and everything is resolved nicely. Please see updated tags.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me and this story ❤️ I'm so grateful that so many have enjoyed this little AU that I felt compelled to share.

Bucky wakes up in Steve’s arms.

The golden morning sun is shining through the cracks of the curtains, gently illuminating Steve’s bedroom. He lies there for a few moments, enjoying the cozy feeling of being wrapped up in a flannel sheet with Steve’s chest pressed to his bare back. Bucky’s been staying over more and more, and Steve seems fine with not talking about what they are and what they’re doing, so Bucky is fine with it, too.

He’s gotta be. He can’t pop this bubble they’re in. He wants to just enjoy it for as long as he can.

After a while of lying there, his bladder insists on making a fuss so he tries to carefully sneak out of bed. Just as he thinks he’s about to be home-free, Steve’s hands reach out and drag him back in by the hips.

“Ah!” Bucky squeaks, back falling onto the bed while Steve rolls on top of him, pressing him down into the mattress.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Steve rumbles in that delicious morning-rough voice of his. Bucky barely catches a glimpse of his ocean blue eyes before Steve is tucking his face into Bucky’s neck to press kisses to the column of his throat. Bucky groans, partly from Steve’s hot body on top of him, but also partly from his incessant need to piss.

“Bathroom, and unless you want me to pee the bed you better let me go,” Bucky warns, threading the fingers of his right hand through Steve’s dark blonde hair. His left wrist still encased in his cast as it still had three weeks to go before they could finally take it off. But it was fine; he still had his right hand, and Steve.

He continued to pet through Steve’s hair for a moment, waiting for the big lug to pull away. It was starting to get shaggy from how long it was. It… did things to Bucky. He wasn’t sure why.

Steve groans, and then lifts up enough to lean forward and press his lips to Bucky’s in a soft kiss.

“Please don’t piss the bed,” Steve murmurs, which prompts Bucky to laugh and shove at him. 

Bucky complains of how heavy Steve is on top of him and rolls him back off. When he climbs out of bed and stands up to stretch, he catches Steve ogling him from below. Bucky flicks him the middle finger at him and spins around to run to the bathroom.

“You should get up and make me coffee!” He says over his shoulder as he leaves the bedroom. He hears Steve chuckle at him and knows that despite Steve laughing at his request, he was very likely going to do it anyway.

When he’s done relieving himself, he decides that a shower is in order. They had been a little… exuberant the previous night and he probably had little dried spots of various fluids on him somewhere. He jumps in the shower he’s become well acquainted with and helps him to Steve’s soap, shampoo, and conditioner knowing it wasn’t the first time he’s done it and it probably won’t be the last.

He feels exhilarated by the idea of them, together. Knowing Steve’s house now almost as well as his own cabin. He can’t wait to see where this _thing_ between them goes, what it’ll become. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but Steve looks at him in a way that makes Bucky’s belly set on fire. 

He could let himself hope a little bit, right?

By the time he’s clean and clothed, he makes his way down to the kitchen where Steve is finishing brewing a fresh pot of coffee. He comes up behind the man, pressing his face into his warm, bare back and wraps his arms around Steve’s waist from behind. Steve hums, and let’s Bucky hold onto him like a human backpack while he shifts around to grab two mugs from the cabinet and a spoon from the drawer.

“You’re gonna have to let me go if you wanna drink your coffee,” Steve comments, a smile teasing at his voice. Bucky just pushes his face into Steve’s back more and groans.

“Just inject it into my veins,” Bucky complains, and revels in the feeling of Steve’s laugh thrumming in his chest. It makes tingles shoot down Bucky’s spine at how pleasing a sensation it is to feel Steve laugh.

“Who would have thought you were such a baby,” Steve teases as he pours them both a bup. “I definitely thought you were crazy when I first met you. But this? Never would have guessed,” Steve says, and turns around in Bucky’s embrace so that they were facing each other.

Bucky pouts at him until Steve hands him his doctored-up coffee; lots of sugar and cream. He sips at it for a few minutes while Steve smiles down at him, mirth dancing in his eyes.

“Yeah, and I thought you were a grump asshole when I first met you. Turns out I was right,” Bucky sasses back, and he squeaks when Steve pinches Bucky’s side in retaliation. 

“I’ll show you an asshole,” Steve warns, setting his mug down on the counter and reaching out for Bucky. The younger man laughs and steps back, trying to be careful not to spill his own coffee.

“Stop! Steve, I’m gonna spill!” Bucky laughs, and true enough some coffee sloshes over and spills onto his shirt as he tries to dodge Steve’s menacing fingers. 

“Look at you, making a mess. Can’t be a good boy for the life of ya, can you?” Steve asks, voice starting to get low and enticing. Bucky giggles and takes a few more steps back.

“No! I just showered, and I have work to do! You’re not allowed to be a wild animal until after work!” Bucky says, trying to take another sip of his coffee so that it’s not quite so full. Steve is just smiling at him in the way that he does; his mouth is quirked upwards, but it’s his eyes that really tell Bucky that he’s happy and amused.

“Fine, be a spoilsport,” Steve gruffs, and gets to making breakfast for the two of them. “But you better not cry later when you get what’s comin’ to ya.”

Bucky smirks into his mug. He can’t _wait._

~*~

In retrospect, he should have seen it coming. Of course the universe would have some truly poetic symbolism to lay him flat on his ass with. It was just like that fateful day; he spilt coffee on his shirt and received that fateful email from his grandpa. He decided on a whim to drop everything and try to find what made him happy in life.

And he has, for the most part. He has a new home that he loves, things that he grows from the ground-up with his own two hands, animals that need him to care after them, a town full of people he can’t imagine life without now, and Steve. And while his relationship (?) with Steve is a work in progress, that coffee spill still altered his life in such a profound way.

Maybe Bucky doesn’t believe in fate, or the grand universe, or things that are meant to be. But he should have seen it coming. He should have known that eventually, the bubble was going to pop.

After a nice breakfast of eggs, toast, and bacon, Steve shoos him off to go do his daily chores. He has chickens to feed, and crops to weed, and plants to water. It was a routine to manage, one that he’s fallen into happily and one that has seamlessly become his life.

He’s walking through the short path between his and Steve’s houses, enjoying the last bits of summer that he can. The grass and leaves were the greenest he’s ever seen them anywhere; trees don’t look like this in New York, even in Central Park. There was something magical about this place, about these woods. It made him so happy to be surrounded by such thick, beautiful nature.

He’s walking up to his property--the crops he’s gotta weed and feed in sight--when he sees him.

He’s standing in front of the cabin, hand parallel to his brow to shield his eyes from the sun. His other hand is on his hip, and he looks good; he’s in a black button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and tan shorts that show off his long legs. His hair styled in its usual gel, his shoulders the usual wide and intimating breadth. 

Brock.

It’s been over two months since Bucky’s last seen him. Not since that fateful day, when Brock barely said two words to him on his way out of the apartment, leaving in a hurry to make his flight to San Francisco. Bucky hadn’t thought about it at the time, didn’t know that that would be the last time he saw Brock until he was here, in his new life.

He didn’t know that the next time he’d see Brock, they’d be exes instead of fiances.

He should turn around and run, he thinks distantly as he stares at Brock, frozen in his shoes. He should turn around and run back to Steve, where he’s safe and loved. Brock hasn’t seen him yet; he can just turn around and go.

But he can’t. He can’t take his eyes off of Brock. 

It’s the juxtaposition of it; Brock is from his old life, from the past. Brock is from the part of himself that he was trying to run away from, to leave behind. This place is his new life--a life he’s worked hard to build. It's everything he wants to keep, and Brock represents everything he wanted to let go.

Watching Brock walk up to his cabin and scowl at the window just makes Bucky feel _wrong._ Brock shouldn’t be here--he shouldn’t anywhere near this beautiful little bubble he’s built for himself. Brock is going to tarnish it in the way he does with everything he gets his hands on.

The way he did to Bucky.

And maybe that’s not fair--Brock didn’t _ruin_ him. But Bucky turned into someone he didn’t like when he was with Brock. He’s rudely reminded of that version of himself when Brock turns to see Bucky just standing there, staring dumbly at him.

Bucky wants to run. But instead, he steps forward.

Brock doesn’t say anything at first. His judgmental eyes are on him, assessing him. Bucky crosses his arms defensively, feeling a little self conscious of Steve’s flannel shirt hanging from his shoulders, of his scuffed knees from work and the cast on his wrist. As he walks closer, trying to avoid eye contact, they’re finally within talking distance.

Brock, of course, speaks first.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks sharply, voice full of displeasure. Bucky’s skin ripples in irritation, anger bubbling up inside him. He tries to tamp down on it, tries to be mature about this.

“You’re intruding on private property, please leave,” he replies, doing his best to keep his voice level. He’s still not looking at Brock as he walks past him, heading towards the shed to get the chicken feed. Just because an asshole showed up doesn’t mean his chicks don’t need to eat.

“Oh come _on,_ ” Brock bites, trailing after him. “Are you seriously still throwing this tantrum? I gave you your space, you should be over this by now!”

Bucky mentally walks himself through taking several steadying breaths and grabs his bag of chicken feed, still ignoring Brock. He starts walking to the coop.

“This is private property, please leave,” he repeats, and sets down the feed to unlatch the coop’s door. His chickens cluck happily when they see him, and crowd around him as he reaches into the bag and starts throwing the feed across the enclosure. He almost forgets Brock’s there as he smiles down at his chickens. He pats a few before taking his leave.

Brock’s still there, staring at him with a dumbfounded look.

Bucky frowns, and locks the coop back up. He’s about to start walking back to the shed to put away the feed when Brock starts _laughing_ at him.

“Oh _Jesus_ ,” he laughs, hand on his own stomach. Like he was laughing so hard it hurt, one of those deep belly laughs. “I can’t--I can’t believe it! What the fuck is this?” Brock laughs. “You left your great job at Hammer to shovel animal crap? Are you serious?”

Bucky scoffs and heads back to the shed to return the feed. He’s going to have to get inside and call--he doesn’t know. He could call Steve, but Natasha is the local law enforcement. Maybe just everyone?

He’s so _embarrassed_ though, needing help getting his ex off of his property. This was such a humiliating experience. He had foolishly hoped that the last time they had spoken on the phone was the last of it. That had been mortifying enough, with half the town hearing him yell into his phone in front of the pub and then needing Natasha to come calm him down. That should have been the last of it. But one thing was for certain.

Brock wasn’t going to leave willingly.

He’s hurrying to the cabin, fishing his keys from his pocket when Brock catches up to him. He grabs his arm--his good wrist, with his hand holding his keys.

“Don’t fucking walk away from me when I’m talking to you,” Brock snaps, and Bucky rips his hand back

“I don’t want to talk to you, or listen to what you say!” Bucky bites back, and takes several steps backwards. He’s so close to his door, but he’s not sure what Brock is going to _do._ “You are intruding on private property. You are _not welcome_ here, I do not want to see you now or ever again. Now get the fuck away from me!”

And he was trying not to lose his temper. Because when he got angry--Brock got angrier. He was truthful when he told Natasha that Brock didn’t hit him; he had evert. But the _threat_ of it, in his body language and in the tone of his voice, has always been there. It said one clear thing; don’t step out of line.

Bucky is apparently way out of line.

Brock pushes him, and his back hits the side of his cabin. He feels his resolve crumble a little inside of him, a voice in the back of his head asking, _what is the point? This was never going to work out long-term, anyway._ He feels himself fold, like how he’s done so many times. Like a flimsy piece of paper crumpling up in Brock’s fist. He realizes that this was how he’s always been--why he’s never done something this stupid and big before.

“Sounds like you learned how to talk back, James. I gotta say, it doesn’t sound good coming from you,” Brock hisses, holding Bucky’s jaw in his strong hand.

This is why he doesn’t do things this stupid. It’s because he can’t handle the backlash.

He’s gotta do what he’s told, what’s expected of him. When he does anything else, he can’t stand up for himself. He can’t justify his actions. There’s always Brock standing behind him, telling him how stupid he’s been, how he just needs to _listen_ to what’s best for him.

He never stood up for himself when he suspected Brock as cheating. He’d bring it up, ask about the evidence he’d find, and Brock would wave it off. Tell him he’s overthinking it. Tell him he’s crazy.

But he’s not, is he? He just wanted to believe it. He wanted to maintain the perfect life he had made for himself. He worked so _hard,_ checking off every box on his to-do list. He had a _plan,_ and he wanted to see through to the end that that plan came to fruition.

But plans change.

“You listen here,” Brock murmurs to him, tone low and serious. His brown eyes look down into Bucky’s with fire. “You’re going to quit your dramatic little game here. I gave you your space. You had your little quarter-life crisis. I came running after you like you wanted. I’m here, now stop being a little princess.”

Here is Brock, telling him what’s best for him, like he’s always done. Bucky has always blindly trailed after him, did as he was told. Got his degree, got the job, got the guy. He always listened. He always did as he was told.

But--he _loves_ this place. He looks past Brock’s shoulder, at the greenery of his property, hears the happy chirps and the chatter and rustle of leaves in the distance. That perfect feeling of being surrounded by nature in the summertime held him tight like a hug from his childhood. This place makes him so happy.

“I didn’t want you to chase me,” Bucky tries, his voice failing him. “I broke up with you. It’s over. We’re not good together. You don’t make me happy.”

He tries to implore, tries to get his message across. Because it’s true; he doesn’t want Brock anymore. He doesn’t want to listen to what everyone else thinks is best for him. He wants to find his own way. He wants to throw the planner out the window and just _live._

Brock scoffs, and tightens his hold on Bucky’s jaw.

“You really going to keep running your mouth like that?” Brock asks, words spoken low and dark.

With this last burst of will, with fear pulsing through his body, he pushes past Brock and charges towards his door. With his keys in his hand, he unlocks the door, steps in, and spins around quickly to slam it in Brock's face, but--

Brock’s booted foot wedges itself in the door before he can close it, and Bucky feels his energy drain out of him instantly. Like his last effort was thwarted, and he’s used all of his energy to try to get away. He’s fighting himself just as much as he’s fighting to get away from Brock, and it’s exhausting.

He tried--he tried his best and Brock still won.

Brock pushes the door open harshly. He steps in, infiltrating Bucky’s safe place. Here, where his grandfather had built his cabin and where Bucky has nurtured it and made it his own. Brock strides in like a virus, contaminating all of his happy memories with this place instantaneously.

“You are not going to humiliate me again,” Brock says, advancing on Bucky. He looks like a wolf stalking its prey. Bucky keeps stepping back carefully until his back hits the wall of his living room. The door is ajar, and Brock is standing over him.

“Humiliate _you?_ ” Bucky asks, and feels a strangled laugh choke out of his throat. “You cheated on me in front of _everyone._ You’re the one that’s humiliated _me_!”

Brock snarls and grabs Bucky’s jaw again. Bucky tries to twist out of his hold but Brock harshly grabs his casted wrist, making Bucky cry out in pain from the jolt.

“He’s gone. I got rid of him for you, are you happy? Now, you are coming back with me to New York where you belong,” Brock says, holding him tightly. Bucky wants to cave, just wants to get Brock out of this space even knows if it means he’s going with him--

“ _No he’s not_ ,” a voice from behind them says, and Brock is barely turning his head to see who is there when a fist is making contact with his face.

Bucky yelps, closing his eyes tight as Brock’s body staggers away from him from the force of the blow. The words spoken are slow to process in his brain, and Bucky presses himself hard against the wall, very aware that Brock is still there and Brock was _mad._ He peeks his eyes open to see--

_Steve._

Steve’s fists are raised in a fighter’s stance, face tilted down and eyes savagely dark. He looks like Bucky’s never seen him; he was mad of course when Bucky had broken his wrist, and he yelled and threw things around out of frustration. That Steve had just turned Bucky on, but this Steve--

This Steve looked like he was about to _kill._

Brock rights himself, rubbing his cheek where he was punched, and faces Steve.

“What the fuck is this?” Brock spits, and Bucky tries to slink alongside the wall he’s pressed against to slip into the kitchen. Steve takes the few steps to put himself in front of Bucky, blocking him from Brock.

“ _Get out_ ,” Steve hisses, and the timbre of his voice makes the hair on Bucky’s arms stand up. Bucky is vividly reminded that Steve was in the military, had training, and Brock is just some asshole who's never been in a fight before in his life.

Bucky fumbles for his phone, swiping it open and going to his contacts with shaky fingers to call Natasha.

“You’re intruding on a serious conversation with my fiance,” Brock says, eyes narrowing. The two men size each other up, and Brock takes a step forward.

“You don’t have a fiance here. If you do not leave this property immediately, I will physically remove you,” Steve threatens, and takes his own step forward.

“ _Bucky? Hello? Are you okay?_ ” Natasha asks, her voice ringing through on the phone pressed to his ear. Bucky chokes out a breath of relief.

“Natasha, please, hurry! Please get to my place as fast as possible, there’s--” Bucky pauses, adrenaline coursing through him as he watches Steve and Brock face off. Neither man has said another thing, but they’re both glaring at each other like they’re trying to intimidate the other into leaving.

“ _Steve called already, we’re on our way. Are you safe?_ ”

Bucky lets out a sob, and he watches as Brock’s eyes move to him. He feels the tears spilling down his cheeks.

“Yeah, Steve’s here,” he says to Nat, who is saying something like _good,_ and _we’ll be there soon_ but he’s distracted by Brock’s gaze.

He never would have thought that it would come to this. He wasn’t sure what Brock would have done if Steve hadn’t come, if Steve wasn’t here. Steve’s _here._ Brock’s never crossed the line this far--but Bucky has also never pulled anything like this before.

“How did you find me?” Bucky demands, because he wants to know before Brock is removed from his life for good. Brock just scowls at him.

“You played a hard game, didn’t you?” Brock retaliates, making Bucky flinch. God, he wasn’t playing _any_ game! “Your sister’s Instagram pictures had geotags,” he replies simply.

Bucky closes his eyes and tries to breathe steadily. Becca must have posted pictures with some sort of indication of where he was, unknowing that Brock was watching her. Still, he couldn’t believe that Brock drove seven hours to find him. He couldn’t believe Brock was _here._

In some twisted reality, he thinks he might have been happy that Brock chased after him. He’d been given so little attention for so long, ignored in their relationship for _so long._ Brock gathered him up and put a label on him claiming Bucky as his--he put that ring on his finger and promised him the universe, and then he turned around and ignored him in favor of someone else.

Bucky turned himself into someone he wasn’t while he was with Brock. He became desperate for Brock’s affection and complacent in their relationship. He took whatever he could get, and ignored the signs for so long. He _knew_ Brock was cheating on him, but he kept thinking it’d get better, that maybe he was wrong. That Brock loved him.

But this wasn’t _love._ Inability to respect someone’s feelings and decision to end a relationship isn’t love. Demanding that they stay and be complacent isn’t love. If Bucky had never left, if he had never gotten that hopeful email from his grandfather, if he had never experienced the joys of building something on his own to nurture and care for and love, maybe he never would have truly seen the person that Brock is showing him now.

But he’s here, in a place he loves with people he loves, and he sees Brock. He sees his unwillingness to accept and respect what Bucky wants, what Bucky has a right to have. And he knows that Brock could _never_ make him happy.

“Brock, I’m going to say this one last time,” Bucky says, trying to even his shaky voice. He looks up and stares right into Brock’s eyes. “I broke up with you. I am not marrying you, and I am not coming back with you.”

Brock scoffs.

“I will file a restraining order against you if I have to. Now please leave,” Bucky pushes on, trying to stand up straight. The phone is still pressed against his ear, and Steve is still stiff and ready to attack in front of him.

Several tense moments go by. Bucky’s almost holding his breath until Brock finally looks away.

“You are so disappointing,” Brock says, and turns around to leave.

As soon as Bucky sees his back, sees that it is retreating, sees the finality of it all, he crumples to the floor.

He hears commotion around him; Natasha appears in the doorway just as Brock is leaving. She grabs his arm and says something to him, to which Brock starts yelling back. Bucky cries, dropping his phone and covering his face with his hands. He feels a hand on his shoulder, and knows immediately and without fear that it’s Steve.

God, it’s over. He hopes it’s finally over. He can file a restraining order, or whatever else he has to do to make sure Brock stays away from him. But even after the fear he’s carried, even after his intense desire to get away from Brock, even though he can finally be _happy_ without worry, Brock’s words still hurt.

Because he _is_ disappointing. Bucky put everything into their relationship. He put all of himself in, and he truly believed himself to be in love. Brock had never been _this_ horrible to him. He ignored him, and cheated on him, and cared more about the appearance of being married and having an obedient husband than he actually cared for Bucky’ feelings. But Bucky put so much of himself into that relationship that he lost himself.

He feels Steve gather him up in his arms, and Bucky presses his crying face into Steve’s neck. His fingers cling to Steve’s shirt, and he worries that this whole mess complicates things between them even further. He worries that he’ll be seen as weak, that he’ll be seen as questionable. He’s already humiliated by this whole ordeal. He’s already _so embarrassed._

God, wouldn’t he disappoint Steve, too?

Hasn’t he already?

Steve shushes him, pressing his lips to Bucky’s ear. Bucky’s still sobbing, trying to crawl into Steve’s lap. He’s vaguely aware that there are others here, but he pays them no mind. Whatever happens from now on, however Steve’s opinion of him may have been changed, he needs this comfort now. He may not get it again, so he needs to take as much as he can get.

His crying is starting to quiet down, Steve’s big hands rubbing his back soothingly, when he hears,

“Oh, so this _is_ a real thing, huh?” Clint's voice says.

“ _Shh,_ don’t be a dick,” snaps Darcy.

Bucky sniffles and leans back, pulling himself enough away from Steve’s warmth to look at the people in his home.

Clint, Darcy, and Sam are all standing in his living room, looking into his open kitchen where he’s bundled up in Steve’s arms. His front door is still open, and he hears some distant talking from outside.

“Everyone’s… here?” Bucky asks, voice wobbly. He rubs the tears from his eyes, feeling emotional for a whole other reason.

“‘Course we are, Buck. Came running when we heard you were in trouble,” Sam chimes in with a soft smile. Darcy and Clint nod along.

Steve surprises him by cupping his cheek in front of everyone, using his thumb to swipe away more tears.

“This whole village will protect you, come hell or high water,” Steve says, nice and gentle. Bucky’s chest squeezes from his feelings spilling over. He loves this man _so much._ A few more tears escape Bucky’s eyes.

Steve leans forward to kiss where his tears have run down, his hands sliding back to wrap around him again. Bucky sighs into it, letting the tension roll off his body from Steve’s attention and care.

“So are we just gonna ignore this?” Clint’s asking. Bucky feels his face go hot, trying to push away the embarrassment. He knows Steve is only doing this because he cares. He shouldn’t let Steve embarrass himself in front of his friends. He goes to push away, to stand up and start working through whatever he needs to, when Steve pulls him back in.

“What, this?” Steve asks, words full of tease. Bucky’s confused for a split second before Steve is pulling him in and kissing him.

In front of everyone.

Surprise shoots through him, along with want but also denial. Steve’s--he doesn’t know what Steve’s doing. Taunting Clint for being nosey? The kiss is over as soon as it began, and Bucky’s at a loss for words as he stares at Steve.

The older man is smiling at him, hand coming back to stroke his cheek. He knows he’s gotta be flushed and ugly from crying, but Steve’s just giving him the sweetest look. He doesn’t know what this means. He’s all messed up inside, the adrenaline that was pumping through him causing him to crash. His crying has given him a headache, and all he wants to do is curl up in bed and stay there for a couple of days.

“All I’m saying is, I fucking called it,” Darcy says from the side. Bucky curls in on himself, letting go of Steve and moving to stand up. Steve reaches out to bring him back in, but Bucky shakes his head and Steve drops his hands. Clint says something like, “You sure did,” and Sam is saying something disapproving to both of them when Natasha and Fury walk in.

The room goes silent, and Bucky’s on his feet with watery eyes looking over at her. She nods her head to the side to signal to him that they should talk in private. He nods, and chances a look back at Steve who is just looking over at him with concern.

He’s not sure what to say, so he ignores it all for later and brings Natasha down to his bedroom. She closes the door behind them, and Bucky sits on his bed, bringing his knees up to his chest to hug.

“Would you like to press charges?” Natasha asks, voice neutral and professional, but still caring. He respects her for it.

“I don’t think so. Can I just get like a restraining order against him or something if he comes back?” he asks, voice a little wobbly but he tries to remain calm. Natasha’s eyes soften on him.

“I think you’d have a good case if you have any type of texts or voicemails from him. We can file an order with the county court and see where it goes,” she says softly. Bucky nods and sniffles a bit. 

“Did he--uhm, did he seem like he wasn’t going to…?” Bucky asks. Natasha gives him a soft smile.

“He was yelling about how you found a new fuck toy and that he was done. He left the premises willingly and was not combative,” he recounts. Bucky nods again, letting out a breath of relief. At least it seemed like Brock may leave him alone again.

He’s quiet, lost in thought, when Natasha speaks up.

“If you want to go ahead with the order, I fully support you,” she says. He nods, then stops, and thinks twice before he shrugs weakly.

“Why don’t we--uh, why don’t we wait and see if he tries to contact me again. I’ll unblock his number, and if he even texts me something we’ll do it,” he finally decides. Brock was definitely threatening and out of line today, but it wasn’t like he had a history of this kind of behavior. Besides that text message, he hadn’t really _threatened_ Bucky. He sighs heavily, unsure if he was making a decision that we would regret later. But for now, this seemed the most sensible. 

He was hopeful that this would all go away quickly and quietly.

Natasha rubs his shoulder, and then stands up straight and heads to the door.

“Would you like me to get rid of everyone?” she asks, eyebrow raised. Bucky bites his lip and shrugs again.

“No, I’ll come with you,” he says, not entirely sure he _wants_ to face everyone, especially after Steve kissed him in front of Clint, Darcy and Sam. He should probably clear the air, though. He and Steve weren’t dating.

He dejectedly follows Nat back down the short hallway into the living room and kitchen area. Fury is the first to approach him, and he pats Bucky on the shoulder with what Bucky would call the only gentle look he’s ever seen on the mayor.

“I’ve gotta confess to you that your grandpa had told me to keep an eye out for you. While I did not know the details, I did know that someone may come looking for you, and I’m sorry I couldn’t help prevent this,” the mayor says.

A mix of feelings settle into Bucky’s stomach about his grandpa and Mayor Fury conspiring about him, but it was with good intentions. He gives the mayor his best attempt at a smile.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, mayor. I have some really wonderful friends keeping an eye out for me here,” he says, looking around the room. It was true, every one of his friends came running to help him when they didn’t have the obligation to. His eyes land on Steve, who is looking at him warmly.

“We’re happy to have you here, Barnes,” Fury says, and then gives a nod before exiting the cabin.

Bucky lets out a sigh of relief, and faces the rest of the group.

“Thank you, really. It means a lot to me that you’re all here,” he says. A few hands pat his back, and Clint’s arm swings around to rest on his shoulders.

“Glad you’re okay, Buck! Now, what about this whole thing between you and--”

“ _Okay,_ ” Natasha cuts in, stepping in close and pulling Clint off of Bucky. “That’s enough. Bucky’s had a big day so let’s all give him some space to breathe. Stay out of his already invaded privacy, Barton,” Natasha says, rounding everyone up and starting to herd them all outside.

Everyone except Steve.

Steve stays where he is, watching the group get pushed out of the cabin. Before Natasha leaves, she gives a questioning look to him, flicking her eyes over at Steve as if asking, _Want me to make him go, too?_

Bucky feels warm at her kindness, and gives a minute shake of his head. She nods, and closes the door behind her.

Steve is moving before Bucky can say anything, walking straight to the door to deadbolt it. He then goes around and locks the windows and checks that the back door is locked. Bucky leans against the back of his couch, crossing his arms over his chest, thinking about how to have this conversation.

He still can’t place exactly why Steve kissed him in front of everyone. Was he teasing Bucky? Was he being serious? They haven’t _talked,_ so Bucky has no indication of how Steve feels or what he wants. Bucky was avoiding it, not wanting the bubble to pop.

It’s sure as shit popped now.

Steve returns to the living room and takes Bucky’s left hand in his.

“Your wrist okay?” he asks softly, looking down at the short cast cover half of his forearm and hand. Bucky nods, and watches their hands twined together.

“Yeah,” he says meekly, not sure else what to say. He doesn’t know how to start this conversation, other than blurt out all of his questions.

Steve decides for him, though, and he drops Bucky’s hand in favor of stepping in closer and encasing Bucky’s cheeks in his big hands, and brings their mouths together in a soft kiss. Bucky leans into it, even though his heart tells him to pull away. He just can’t deny how much he wants Steve.

“You must be tired,” Steve says against his lips as he pulls back some. Bucky opens his eyes slowly, looking into Steve’s ocean blue.

God, he was so handsome. His beard is a little uncombed, and his hair a little disheveled, but his eyes were bright and face open. Bucky can’t imagine not being able to wake up next to Steve anymore, not being able to kiss him when he wants. He can’t imagine this morning being the last morning that they stood around in Steve’s kitchen, messing around and teasing each other and getting coffee everywhere.

Emotions well up in his throat before he can stop them, and he looks down to avert his eyes. Steve makes a concerned noise, and pulls them closer together.

“Bucky,” Steve says, pleads. Bucky shakes his head and sniffles, a hitch in his breath making him ashamed of how weak he is--how easily he cries.

“Buck,” Steve repeats, and finally manages to get Bucky to look up at him. “He’s never going to touch you again,” Steve says to him, promising. And oh, Bucky isn’t even thinking about Brock anymore. Steve is so concerned for him and his safety, and Bucky is instead heartbroken over Steve.

He shakes his head, and dabs at his tears with the tips of his fingers.

“H-how did you know to come?” he asks. Whatever caused it, he’s so grateful it happened.

Steve seems to soften, but lets his hands kind of fall to his side.

“I went to town to pick something up from Clint, and Peter told me there was this black fancy car with a New York license plate parked by the bus stop,” he says, shrugging and leaning against the back of the couch next to Bucky. “Just… instantly, my mind went to the worst place. You’re the only one that would get a visitor. And I knew you weren’t expecting anyone so…”

Bucky nods, feeling another wave of tears well up in his eyes. God, he’s so grateful that Steve pieced it all together. 

“As soon as I saw the door open and heard yelling, I called Nat,” he continues, but then stops, seemingly unsure what else to add.

“Thank you,” Bucky says quietly, tipping his head back to keep the tears from running down more. He’s so tired of crying. He doesn’t want to keep crying; he just wants to put this all behind him.

Steve just smiles at him, and takes a step closer. He wraps his arm around Bucky and pulls him in a bit, kissing the side of his head. Bucky breathes deeply, reveling in the feeling of Steve so warm and close.

So safe.

“I don’t really know where to go from here,” Bucky admits with a resigned voice. He can’t get his hopes up, but after such a day he just needs to clear whatever air is around them and move forward.

Steve pulls back a tad and looks at him questioningly.

“What do you mean?” he asks, tilting his head. He’s so handsome, with his big blue eyes. Bucky loves looking into his eyes, loves the feeling of Steve giving him his whole attention.

“Us,” Bucky replies, at a loss for any further explanation. Is there even an ‘us’? Is there even a possibility?

Bucky watches as confusion clouds Steve’s eyes, and then transforms into hurt. His eyebrows drop, his mouth falls. It’s like he’s sinking.

“I don’t--I mean, do you not… want to?” he asks, words clearly swerving and stumbling from whatever thoughts are going through his mind. Bucky bites his lip and looks down at his nervously twisting fingers.

“I’ve… to be honest I have liked you for a while,” he admits, and then peeks up to see Steve’s reaction. Steve just looks like he’s waiting for him to continue, so he does. “I mean, I like you a lot, and I like spending time with you, and…” he trails off, feeling his face heat up from the thoughts of the things he likes that they _do together_.

“I don’t see the problem,” Steve says, which makes Bucky pause and glance up at him. His mouth falls open a little, looking up at the man he’s been in love with for some time now.

“No?” he asks in a small voice.

And Steve _smiles._ A bright, beautiful, blinding smile. Bucky can hardly remember when they first met, and Steve never smiled. He was all lumberjack gruff, with his thick beard and serious face. But in recent weeks he’s always laughing at something, or smiling at Bucky, and it makes Bucky’s heart soar. 

“No. Because I like you, too. And I love spending time with you, and making you coffee in the morning, and taking care of you, and--mmf,” Steve mumbles against his lips as Bucky leaps up, encircling his neck with his arms, and kisses him.

Steve’s quick to kiss him back, pulling him further into his arms so that they’re chest to chest. Steve’s still leaning against the back of the couch, and Bucky is standing in between his legs and within those thick, warm arms.

The kiss is sweet, just a long press of their lips together. Bucky pulls back enough to look up at Steve, and feels his bottom lip wobble at the crash of emotions and _happiness_ he feels. It feels like so much it’s almost scary; the fear that in a quick second, all could be taken away with him with just a few words.

“Really?” he asks, not even trying to hide the intensity from his voice. Steve just continues to grin down at him with his little crows feet at the corners of his eyes and his hand reaching up to push some hair out of Bucky’s face.

“Yeah, Buck. I thought you knew I was crazy about you,” Steve says gently, searching Bucky’s face for a reaction. Bucky shakes his head just once and minutely. Steve’s grin drops a bit.

“I am, Buck. Been crazy about you since your first week here. There you were, some kid from the city up in the middle of nowhere. Everyone was happy you were here, but nobody knew what the hell you were doing,” Steve says, a corner of his mouth quirking up in humor.

“I still have no idea what I’m doing,” Bucky admits.

The older man’s eyes soften, and he tilts his head down to the side as he watches Bucky.

“Not sure if that’s true, sweetheart,” Steve says. Bucky opens his mouth to argue, but Steve continues. “Look at what you’ve done with this place, what you’ve _achieved._ Maybe you didn’t know what you were going to do when you first came up here, but you sure as hell figured it out,” he says, gesturing to the rest of the room.

Bucky ducks his head to Steve’s chest, suddenly embarrassed but pleased. Maybe Steve was right. He should take ownership of his accomplishments. But he still wasn't sure what he was going to do from now on.

“You were this guy that was clueless as hell but you were so determined. It was really cute,” Steve continued, letting Bucky hide his face in Steve’s shirt. “And then you wormed your way into everyone’s hearts and found a perfect place in this community… I’ve been gone on you for a while, Buck,” Steve says, low and quiet like it was just for the two of them; no one else could come between them.

And Bucky realizes then that there is no bubble to pop; it’s just him and Steve, and it’s been that way since they first became friends. Steve likes him, wants him, and wants to be with him. They weren’t trapped in their own little bubble, hiding away from everyone and counting down until they’d finally separate.

They could be _together._

Bucky pushes his face firmer into Steve’s chest, knowing he must look like a weirdo. He was overcome with so much happiness and excitement, but also felt bashful about how he had missed what was so blatant and obvious in front of him.

Steve chuckles and smooths back Bucky’s hair to where it was in a tangled bun at the back of his head. 

“Why don’t I help you finish up your work for the day,” Steve suggests, though still content to just hold Bucky. “And we can take an easy afternoon, just the two of us. Hm?”

Bucky nods and pulls away from Steve bashfully. 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” he says, before smiling up to the older man. “But I think I deserve a kiss first,” he adds.

Steve actually throws his head back to laugh with a short, whole-body shake. He beams down at him and teasingly says, “But of course, your highness.”

~*~

Life goes more or less back to normal.

Summer ends with a rather horrible thunderstorm, but Bucky is content to stay curled up in blankets in Steve’s house, watching Steve paint him with his morning cup of coffee as the rain and lightning rages outside. They plant his final crops for the year at the start of Fall--pumpkins and eggplants, cranberry bushes and more corn. Bucky hopes to have a good cranberry yield so he could turn them into jams and pies.

The first time they go to the pub after the Brock incident, the whole village goes quiet and stares at them. Bucky is flush with embarrassment from the attention, but Steve just rolls his eyes and slings his arm over Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky expects mania, but only Clint whistles and makes a big deal about it.

Fall is especially peaceful, and Bucky enjoys sitting on his porch while Steve’s in town doing work to watch the changing of the leaves. The peace that comes from nature is something he feels deep in his bones. It’s a kind of peace he wasn’t expecting to have after running away and coming here, but he’s so grateful that it found him,

Becca starts texting him halfway through Fall asking when he’s coming back home. He ignores the first text for a few hours, and when he does finally reply with an, _I don’t know,_ she seems to have a lot of opinions about it. Becca and his parents have been so understanding about Bucky’s sudden departure to look after grandpa’s farm, but they seem to start getting antsy now that he’s been gone for the better part of the year.

After a week of sporadic texting, Bucky brings up his dilemma to Steve one night as they lay in bed. Steve is a bed hog in his sleep, but it’s mostly because he has to be all over Bucky throughout the night. Bucky wakes up randomly from feeling too hot because Steve is a furnace who always has to be koala’ed around him.

Before falling asleep, though, Steve stays on his side of the bed while reading with his cute little reading glasses. Bucky loves to tease him about being an old man, but secretly gets hot at the thought that Steve _is_ older than him.

There’s something about a man with his shit together that is just appealing. The whole shirtless while chopping wood thing helps, too, of course.

“Becca’s been asking when I’m going back to the city,” Bucky murmurs, anxious to share the information but knowing it needs to be said. At first he doesn’t think Steve has heard him, but soon the older man is laying his book on his chest and glancing over to Bucky with a careful expression on his face.

“Oh?” he prompts. Bucky nods, forcing himself not to look away and hide. This is _Steve_ ; he doesn’t have to hide anything from Steve.

“Uh, yeah, I was--well, I was thinking about going down there for the holiday and I was wondering if you’d… come with me?” he tries, definitely sounding unsure. Steve doesn’t immediately react so he panics and starts to backtrack. “I mean, it’s no big deal if you don’t of course, I just thought--”

“Buck, I’d love to,” Steve cuts in to say, a small smile reaching his eyes. Bucky feels his panic dissipate, and he sighs in relief. “But, I just need to put out there that…my life is here. If you… decide to go home to the city, I’d understand, but I can’t follow you.”

And the words--spoken gently and kindly--kind of hurt. Bucky doesn’t know _why_ they hurt. He wouldn’t ask Steve to follow him, but he feels like he just might follow Steve anywhere and not having that kind of reciprocation gives a little stab to his heart.

But he thinks, perhaps the reason he’d be so willing to follow Steve anywhere is because he knows deep in his heart that Steve would never leave this place; he has trust in the stability and enduring love of this man. And really, this place is part of the reason why he’s found himself so in love with Steve. Windrip Valley is apart of them in ways that has bound them together, irreversible and complete.

“I understand,” he replies carefully, glancing down to his fingers twisting nervously in the covers. He wasn’t anticipating this kind of conversation just yet. He thinks for a moment to determine how best to navigate his response without outwardly confessing his love to Steve. They’re not quite there just yet.

Steve waits patiently, watching him like he knows Bucky has more to say.

“I--well, this is my home,” he says weakly, shyly looking up to see Steve with that soft expression on his face that turns his insides into cooked noodles. “I haven’t made an official decision yet, but all day everyday I’m thinking about next season, and next year, and making plans in my head for everything I want to do here. And then I think, I could always go home to the city, but I think it’d feel--” he stops, feeling his face heat from embarrassment at what he’s about to say.

Steve leans over and puts a reassuring hand on Bucky’s nervous fingers, encouraging. Bucky takes a deep breath, pushing through.

“I think if I left here, I’d feel like a piece of me was missing. And it’s not--it’s not just about you. Even if we never got together, I would feel it. This place is just--” he stops again, finding himself at a loss of words for how to describe the importance of this little village hidden in the woods.

Brooklyn would always be where he was from; it’ll always carry a sense of nostalgia with it, a pastoral sense of a more simple, perfect youth.. But this place--with it’s friendly people, and it’s beautiful scenery, and it’s overwhelming sense of _peace_ and _right_ that it gives him, it’ll forever be--

“Home,” he finishes. Steve does smile then, and then scoots in closer to wrap his arms around Bucky.

No more words are said between them as Steve brings their mouths together. The dim light of the lamp on the end table is forgotten for much of the night as their bodies entangle and intertwine, celebrating this perfect little place that they’ve found each other in.

~*~

Steve, it turns out, has one of the only cars in the whole dang village. He has an old beat up Toyota pickup stored in a barn-turned-garage that Bucky never paid much attention to. On a chilly Fall morning, with the leaves overhead pretty shades of orange and red, Bucky and Steve pack up a few days worth of clothes and toiletries and set out on the long drive to the city.

Steve, to Bucky’s surprise, has been to New York several times. He was even born in Brooklyn, like Bucky, but his family moved to Vermont when he was only three years old. Bucky sits in the passenger seat, eagerly listening to Steve retell his childhood. Every nugget of information is a precious gem to store away, and he feels loved and trusted as Steve talks about his mom and how much he looked up to her. 

Bucky has a much less exciting family history, but Steve seems happy to listen as they trade off childhood stories and things about school. By the time they’re in the city and fighting through the afternoon traffic, Bucky feels well-worn and ready for a nap.

His parents greet him at their door--his mom yelling loudly with happiness while his dad seems content to observe from the doorway before being the first to step forward and shake hands with Steve. Winnie ushers them into the house quickly, fussing over Bucky and making sure Steve feels welcome in their home.

They say three nights. His family grills Steve about how Bucky is faring up on a farm of all places, but they’d received care packages from him with both his spring and summer crops so they know that he’s fending well for himself. Steve mercilessly does not rat him out about passing out in the sun when he was sick or getting drunkenly lost in the woods behind Steve’s house. He does tease him about his wrist, which is now thankfully all healed up and free from its cast.

They enjoy the holiday together, and Bucky fills up on some much needed family time. His mother dotes on him all weekend, and he suspects that Steve might be a little possessive from having to share Bucky with his family. He always holds him tight at night and twice pushes him down into the mattress to quiet him while he fucks him in his old bedroom.

He’s got Bucky on his belly, his thighs pushed together to really make him _feel_ it as Steve grinds his thick cock deep. Steve’s knees press into the mattress on either side of him, keeping him caged in and defenseless.

Bucky tries to keep his moans to himself--he really does. But Steve is so big in him, forcing him open and making him shiver and quake. His cock is trapped behind his stomach and the mattress, and Steve makes sure he can’t move because one big hand is pressing right down into the small of his back, while the other is reaching forward to clamp over his mouth. It makes Bucky’s eyes roll back into his head.

Bucky’s starting to think he has a _problem_ with how much it gets him going when Steve takes him apart when there are people on the other side of the wall. The little stint in the stables has been a vivid and dirty memory that he’s touched himself to numerous times, and the fact that Steve has to forcibly keep him quiet while he’s fucking Bucky in his parent’s house is just adding to the steadily growing list.

Steve somehow suspends himself in a way that keeps the mattress to a minimal squeak as he grinds in, abusing his sweet spot in the most perfect way. Bucky practically holds his breath as his hole is made loose and wet from that cock fucking him open, bringing him closer and closer to the brink. Steve’s rough hand forcing his back down gives him the perfect angle to light his body on fire while his head is held lifted and back from Steve’s hand firmly clasped over his mouth.

Holding the position would give him a stiff neck and sore muscles, but he loves it; his toes curl, and his fingers scrabble at the pillow he clutches to his chest as Steve fucks in just hard enough to make him see stars. His hole feels achy, like a hungry stomach that needs to be fed, and boy is Steve feeding him.

He lets out a noisy breath from his nose, and Steve tightens the grips he has on his face, murmuring, “ _Shh, somebody’s gonna hear you, sweet boy,_ ” and the thought of being walked in on at this moment makes Bucky--

He comes like a freight train, like he’s being electrocuted, like the whole ocean is crashing down on him. He somehow, mercifully, doesn’t make much noise, but he feels _everything._ His muscles positively shake as he comes, making the bed messy and squeezing down on Steve’s cock so hard he’s convinced he’s going to force him out. But Steve fucks him through it, a gentle grind before groaning behind him and presumably coming, too. 

When Steve carefully pulls out and falls into bed next to him, Bucky feels weak and numb from the thrumming of his body post-orgasm. Steve kisses him sweetly, and rubs his muscles to keep them from going stiff and sore. He hides his face in Steve’s chest because he’s giving Bucky a knowing look about exactly what pulled the trigger--and he knows Steve’s going to use it against Bucky every chance he can get.

It makes him think about fucking in the woods, or even--out in the open, by the lake. He thinks about soaking up in the sun as Steve takes him apart and jumping into the lake afterwards to get rid of the evidence. He presses his hot face to Steve’s bare chest as finger comb through his sweaty hair, absolutely overwhelmed with his dirty thoughts.

But absolutely looking forward to trying them out.

By the end of their trip, they’re definitely ready to head home. Bucky has missed the city, but he’s grown accustomed to the quiet life already. The loud noises, million cars, and that city smell just makes him ache for the fresh air, chattering trees and starry nights. He’s sure Steve is in agreement with him by the looks of how tired he is.

Becca helps them pack the stuff she’s been holding onto for him--extra little things she had grabbed from his apartment with Brock at the very beginning of Spring. It’s a little bittersweet to go through his things, thinking about memories of times long past. But as he gives his family a final round of hugs and climbs into the passenger seat of Steve’s truck, he knows he’s going to make so many wonderful and new memories in his new home.

He can’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for joining me on this journey! I hope the ending was worth the wait. ❤️❤️❤️

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you thought? :)
> 
> I'm on Tumblr at [thiccbuckybarnesfic](https://thiccbuckybarnesfic.tumblr.com/)


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